


Just You

by littlewish



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF, Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman, call me by your name - Fandom
Genre: Cute, Developing Relationship, Domestic Fluff, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Gay Romance, M/M, YA
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:22:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 29,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25516477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlewish/pseuds/littlewish
Summary: In light of the current allegations surrounding Armie Hammer, I have decided to put this work of fiction on hold.
Relationships: Armie Hammer/Original Female Character(s), Timothée Chalamet/Armie Hammer
Comments: 29
Kudos: 52





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not a native English speaker, so forgive some grammatical errors.  
> I hope you enjoy reading as much as I do writing. ~

“Okay, this place is a mess.” A female voice resounded, as a slender figure moved farther into the living area of a rather spacious apartment. Cardboard boxes, still taped shut and covered in scribblings left with a black marker, lined up the open room. The kitchen- and living area were connected, but spacious enough for them to stand on their own. The apartment felt empty, it lacked personality, a soul to be given by its new inhabitant: A man in his early thirties that went by the name Armand, often shortened to Armie. Said man handed his visitor and in turn, close friend, Nanette, a cup of freshly brewed coffee. Black, like her straight and silky hair, but warm and inviting, like her hazel eyes. He walked over to the large arched window near the right side of the living room, his gaze wandering down the visible stretch of the residential neighborhood, while he held a mug of his own in his large hands. “Yeah, I haven’t gotten to unpacking yet.”

Nanette spoke while stirring the liquid, despite no additives being present within the confines of the cup. “Never knew you had this much crap. Maybe it is best we ended up deciding to not take that step of moving in together when we had the chance.” Her remark would have sounded harsh and accusatory to an untrained ear, but Armie had known her long enough to see through the bitterness that lined some, if not most of Nanette’s words. He turned so his back was facing the window and took a sip of his coffee, while stifling a smile of confirmation in agreement. “Rosie secured me a spot at the coffeeshop.” He had said with his eyes fixed on the inconspicuous expressions that colored and shaped the muscles in Nanette’s pale face. He had known the woman to reveal more than she likely intended, simply by one studying her facial expressions at any given time. “Just until I find something steadier.” He added eventually, eyes wandering from his friend, down to the mug in his hands. Her sudden silence was never a good sign, and more often than not meant that multiple gears at once, spun laboriously inside that mind of hers.

And Armie’s suspicions were confirmed by the sentence by which she had followed up. “How’s your mom?”

Nanette knew all too well that he would rather avoid the conversational topic of his parents all together, his mother in particular. He loved his mother and would undoubtedly move heaven and earth for her, but she had fallen victim to a conservative lifestyle and belief system. He would not always see eye to eye with her but knew better than to contradict her convictions. He had witnessed to what extent his mother was willing to go to preserve the public reputation, she, as a well respected socialite, had to uphold. And Nanette was cunning enough to realize just how easily Armie’s buttons could be pressed, merely by mentioning his mother dearest. The notion only gaining more layers of psychological dominance, with the knowledge that Nanette and Armie’s mother were least compatible. A prime example of trying to make fire and water interact naturally. Yet in hindsight, Armie had no intention on keeping that prominent part of his life, the woman who had shaped him throughout the entirety of his childhood, hidden from the woman who had once played an equally requisite part of his private life

“Slowly adapting to the idea of no longer having weekend lunches with her favorite son.” The words, Armie noticed almost immediately after them leaving his mouth, had sounded far more bitter than intended. And that bitter taste now lingered on the underside of his tongue, slowly spreading to the roof of his mouth. Nanette’s expression had softened, indicating that there was a semblance of emotional understanding. “I take it she still refuses to talk to Viktor.”

A pensive nod of the head followed in reciprocation. “He has tried reaching out to her. Sent out a card for her birthday, but she’s having none of it.”

“The blessing of conservatism.” Nanette spat, almost venom like. As if she had been moving the substance in her mouth for a brisk moment, awaiting an utmost suitable time when the poison had become too unbearable to swallow, even for the likes of a, somewhat, cynical person like herself. In an attempt to drown out the silence that had taken over and spoiled the pleasantries, she walked over to the large kitchen space and unapologetically opened a number of cupboards. “Plenty of storage space.”

Armie smiled at her contorted idea of compassion. “A new start.” And Nanette turned her head, only to catch an identically awkward attempt at steering the conversation right. She returned his smile. “A new start.”

* * *

“Maybe you could use a little bit of product.” A white faux-fur coat was carelessly hung over the backrest of a white chair. A lithe built young man imitated her action, then sat down and allowed his eyes to wander through the sea of customers that had gathered in the small coffeeshop and were now enjoying a nice drink and chat with a loved one or colleague. “No product.” He snapped back, a little too eager for his liking. “That stuff tends to stick to my fingers and overall, it is just a mess.” He followed up with, his green eyes moving over the brunette that eyed him from across the table. “I have used Kinky Curly ever since junior high and have yet to regret.” She informed him and pushed a thick, curled lock of her hair over her shoulder.

“Morning. Can I get the both of you started with a drink?”

The conversation between the young adults fell silent, and two pairs of eyes darted upward. There they found the smiling face of a handsome waiter. His dirty blonde hair looked tousled, yet not unkempt. His coral blue eyes radiating warmth and accentuated by the faintest of laugh lines. His straight teeth impossibly white. But by far, his most outstanding and impossibly ignored feature was his height. He stood tall and proud, even hunching his shoulders a little as to appear less… _There._

The brunette was the first to speak and break the silence, that had surely dragged on for a little too long to still be considered comfortable. “I’m feeling a caramel latte vibe.” She turned to her friend, eyebrow raised in recognition of his state of total blank mindedness and gave him a soft kick under the table. The rough material of her boot connecting with the bone tissue of his shin, alerted his brain to reenter reality. He gingerly tucked a stray curl behind his ear, adamant to avoid Armie’s patient gaze. “Same.” He muttered under his breath, almost inaudible, and possibly even spoken too fast to be coherent. But the handsome waiter, who had materialized out of thin air, confirmed their orders with that same Hollywood smile, and had dematerialized into the same batch of thin air.

“God, Timmy. You are anything but subtle.”

The young man known as Timmy simply rolled his eyes. “Back to the topic at hand, Elle.”

Ellie merely shrugged. “You have cute curls and thus you should thank the universe and take good care of them.” Her face fell motionless for a split second, upon which she then cast a thoughtful glance in Timmy’s direction. It had the outward appearance of an individual that had just come up with a revolutionary idea. “Have you ever flat ironed your hair?” So much for revolutionary ideas.

“Pretty much every day as teen.” Came the boy’s casual response. “What spurred you to stop?” Ellie mimicked in a similarly casual fashion. And in that moment, Timmy traveled back to the exact memory that would aide him with sharing the exact reason. “A compliment from my crush. We went swimming during summer and as we dried up in the sun after, my curls naturally returned.”

Ellie aimed a toothy grin at Armie upon his return and leaned back in her seat, as to give the man room to place their orders on the table. “A good hair mask and a little bit of gel might do the trick.” She darted her head to the side when Armie’s long, toned arms moved into their direct line of sight. Ellie didn’t seem too bothered by it. “You can try the non-sticky kinds. I can recommend you a number of brands if you’re interested.” It didn’t take long for the girl to realize that her words were hitting brick walls and gathered into a boneless heap at his very feet. She sent the waiter a polite nod before he returned to his workstation and waved a hand in front of Timmy’s dazed eyes. “Real smooth, Frenchie.”


	2. Chapter 2

“How is Ann holding up?” Rosie Williams said when Armie had returned to his place behind the counter and handed him a kitchen towel, conveying the need for a temporary helping hand with the task of drying recently rinsed cups. “Knowing your mother, I bet she didn’t take your sudden leave too lightly.”

Rosie had been a childhood friend of his mothers. And growing up he had seen her in the same way a small child might look at an aunt-in-law. Despite them not being related, they had shared a bond that ran thicker than blood itself. Rosie had been the person he’d turn to with questions and doubts, failures, and desires that he dared not to discuss with either parent. A liberal mind that knew no judgment, however absurd the subject cited. As a child, and even as a growing teen, he looked forward to every one of her visits to their villa in the more pristine parts of Santa Monica. Rosie brought a sense of normalcy to his controlled and conservative upbringing, normalcy that he so desperately desired during adolescence, when his brain felt confident to question the inner workings of the world, society and in moments of rebellion, the values, and worldviews of his very parents.

Armie crumpled the kitchen towel in his hands and crammed it halfway inside a porcelain mug. “She told me it was an ill-considered decision on my end.” He dared not to meet Rosie’s eyes just yet, instead he focused tenfold on the task at hand: drying the mug to such an extent it could rival a desert. “And Viktor?” the woman continued, brushing past Armie’s shoulder to reach for the dish rack. Armie noticed her sidestep and moved to the other side of the small sink under the accessible countertop. “He sent me a couple of photos of the kids. They look like a happy family and it just...” He breathed out a sigh through his nose and dropped the kitchen towel on the countertop, as he searched for the right words to describe the mill of emotions that raged through his body and mind. “It baffles me as to why my mother wouldn’t want to be a part of that.” Rosie nodded in an assenting manner, giving him the time and space to embrace and identify what had formed in his heart. “Those are the grandchildren she had always dreamed of.” Armie finally spoke, his voice trailing off into what resembled a dying whisper. He picked up the kitchen towel once more and continued his work. “The kids are cute—Look just like Isabel.”

Rosie nodded, almost autonomous, recognizing the hurt that had remained a part of Armie’s person, even after years of attempting to remove himself from the source, to build a load-carrying foundation of his own. One on which he himself might one day built the refuge, the safe haven that will house blessings which he so admired. She placed a gentle hand on his tensed shoulder and said: Sometimes people are so tied down to their beliefs that it clouds their judgment, Armie. Regardless of your mother’s wish to maintain the distance between herself and your brother, there isn’t a doubt on my mind on the love she still has for him. The both of you are her flesh and blood, and no matter the paths you have decided to follow, she is still your mother. There isn’t much to be done other than letting time run its course. All _you_ can do is offer your brother and his family the love and support that they need during these times.

Armie nodded, even if it weren’t much different from Rosie's reaction. Autonomous, while his brain was internally processing, not only the sudden rush of emotions, but the words of wisdom and advice from Rosie, which he might never admit he needed now, more than ever, as well. “Have you settled into your apartment yet?” Came Rosie’s voice, well timed, considerate, a means to organically allow the topic to change form and gradually be shaped into a controlled one. He met her eyes and smiled, not the smile he had practiced endless times in the mirror in his late teens and early twenties, but the childlike and innocent smile formed by a layer of appreciation to Rosie’s guidance. “The furniture will likely arrive somewhere this weekend. I haven’t had the energy to actually get into it.”

“Take as much time as you need to settle into your new environment, Armie. There’s no need to rush these things. It’s a new chapter in your life—Allow the ink to dry before you turn the page.”

* * *

That evening, after his first day at work and getting readjusted to the routine of working daily shifts, Armie had made the decision to wash away the taste of those emotional bursts that day, with a nice and well deserved dinner with Nanette. She would appreciate the consideration and he could use the company of a familiar face that, at all times, knew exactly what to say to color the dark fog that clouded his mind, with a lighter shade of hinted sass. As he waited for Nanette to drop by, he had begun cutting open a number of boxes titled ‘Kitchen’ and moving the items over to their designated locations in said room. Moving back and forth between rooms, the rhythmic thuds of footsteps on the ceiling above him, reminded him that, despite thinking otherwise, he wasn’t alone in this environment. The sound of footsteps pounding in the apartment directly above him, did not irritate him. Not in the moment, that could change in the future, was the sound persistent enough to perforate his day-to-day routines.

The apartment still felt stale and almost sterile, but that would change soon enough, he told himself. New beginnings seldom carried the sense of ease and alleviation. They were the cause for knots of stress and anxiety, that were present to remind you until the very last moment, when you emptied the last box, corrected the leaves on a random fern, that had been a gift from a relative that you hadn’t seen in a handful of years, presumably since childhood or early teenage years, and nowadays hadn’t a clue as to what adult you wished to receive as you celebrated another added year to the list. The color on the walls was bland, white, sterile, numb, emotionless, lacked personality and fiber. The arched window, which by far had been one of the living room’s best features, was too bare, too bright, allowing the penetration of too much light, natural or artificial, lacked curtains, lacked life.

He pushed himself up from the squatted position he found himself in, grabbed a piece of paper from a notebook he had salvaged from one of the boxes, and hastily scribbled his name and surname on it. He unlocked the door to this apartment, that when opened, lead to the second floor hallway. With a fingernail, he gingerly pried open the small plastic container located above the doorbell, removing the name tag a previous owner had forgotten to remove and replaced it with his own. The hallway was dimly lit, switch-based, not yet modern enough for motion sensitive bulbs. He took a careful step outside, leaving the front door ajar and peeked around the corner. The area was silent, not a sound to be heard. His apartment lay right next to the main staircase. It connected the entire building and curved downward to the entrance hall, where the residential mailboxes were located. He could get used to this, the silence, the tranquility, being alone, yet not alone, because his upstairs neighbor liked to dance. Or perhaps he hadn’t been alone, but simply been unaware of the movements that stirred on the staircase leading to the third floor, where a female voice could be heard, but the volume of her voice too distant to make out the words.

* * *

“You look so handsome in your little suit.” Ellie ruffled a hand through Timmy’s hair, a genuine smile lingering on her lips, and Timmy groaned playfully as he feigned annoyance—None of which held any truth, but he just loved messing with the only woman in his life. “Now remember what we talked about.” Timmy rolled his eyes at her words, knowing full well that she had made a solid point, a valid argument could follow, and victory would have always been hers—Why bother? He hooked his arm in hers and patted it with his hand. “I’ll try to make an honest effort to say, ‘fuck it’ and enjoy a night out with my best friend.” And he had meant it, despite it not transferring as intended, he knew Ellie could effortlessly read through the lines and soak up the hidden meaning behind the words. As they descended the stairs together, Ellie said: The last time I went there, there was this waiter… Timmy, I couldn’t keep my eyes off him. Timmy, as had become a habit, rolled his eyes once more. He knew exactly where this conversation was headed, and truth be told, couldn’t care less, but he listened. Because it was Ellie, because she shared something intimate, and she valued his opinion. “Had that that Latino vibe: dark eyes, dark hair, neatly trimmed beard and a nice body.”

They reached the last stairs and continued their descent. “Did you make eyes with him?”

“It’s hard to look sexy while devouring a steak drenched in onion and mushroom cream sauce.” Ellie retorted, biting back a grin, fully aware of the absurdity. “I stole a few glances, he noticed, but no luck.”

Timmy snorted. “You’d think any man would lose it seeing you stuffing a five inch piece of meat down your throat.” He adjusted the lapel of his suit jacket. “Especially when it’s oozing with liquids.” He stifled a chuckle when Ellie’s reaction came in the form of a slap on the wrist. How he loved messing with the only woman in his life.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm happy some of you seemed to like it already.  
> Thank you for that first bookmark, it means a lot! ~
> 
> Question to the readers: Would you like longer or shorter parts in the future?

It must have been around 11PM when Armie returned home, after having kissed Nanette on the cheek and said goodnight. As before, the building was quiet and shrouded in darkness. His footsteps echoed on the stairs and the sound traveled with him to the front door of his apartment. Footsteps that continued to echo, even when he had come to a stop and was now fumbling with his keys. It came from downstairs, the entrance hall and continued to trail upwards, ascending the very steps he had just traveled on. And he waited for a moment, perhaps spurred by curiosity to see one of the many residents that seemed to cease to exist once they moved past their front door. The footsteps traveled faster and then he felt a smile tug on the corner of his lips upon perceiving a face that had become familiar. “Small world.” He spoke at the slender figure that had now slowed its pace. “I thought I had seen your girlfriend going up the stairs earlier this evening.” Timmy took in the view of the very handsome face that had stunned him two days earlier. His heart stuttered, sending a momentary wave of warmth through his body as adrenaline was produced. “She’s not my girlfriend.” He said, a small smile still visible on his lips. “Well, not in the traditional sense of the word.”

He glanced past Armie, which proved to be harder than anticipated due to the man’s impressive build. “I remember an older man living there.” He spoke and nodded toward Armie’s new apartment. If he remembered correctly, the previous tenant rarely set foot outside of his apartment. He hardly remembered the man’s face, then again, Timmy’s interest in neighboring tenants had always been dim. Aside from Mrs. Mizella, a woman in her sixties that took her small Beagle, Esther, on daily walks in Dolores Park. On occasion he had bumped into her in the mornings and shared some small talk as they descended the stairs together. Mrs. Mizella was a lovely woman, somewhat motherly, or even grandmotherly. The other tenants liked to keep to themselves, and it was the idea and impression that he shared with Armie, unbeknownst to each other in this moment, that the building appeared vacant, despite that not being so.

Armie placed a hand on his hip and nodded, still smiling. “Moved in about a week ago.” He caught Timmy’s nod and moved in to reach a welcoming hand. “I’m Armie.” And his smile deepened when Timmy placed his smaller one in his and gave it a short-lived squeeze as he reciprocated the friendly and introductory handshake. “Timothée. But feel free to call me Timmy or Tim.” After a while Armie’s bright blue eyes resting on his face, proved to be too much and thus, in a subconscious manner, Timmy shoved both hands into the pockets of his slacks and slightly hunched his shoulders. “I guess we are neighbors then.” He watched Armie fumble with his keychain and in that moment allowed his thoughts to align with the man’s movements. Armie… The handsome waiter with the Hollywood smile. The man was attractive, there was no denying that and it was a truth he was surely aware of.

“Did you find the right hair product?”

The voice derailed Timmy’s train of thought in an instant, and his body revealed that he hadn’t been fully in the moment and moved his head to a tilted curve. “Sorry?”

“That’s what you and your friend were discussing the other day, were you not?” Armie said calmly, seemingly not to have noticed Timmy’s confusion nor distracted state of mind and unlocked his front door. "I didn’t mean to listen in, but I happened to catch some of it while bringing your orders.” He continued, and the kind undertone of the man’s voice, allowed Timmy to relax his muscles. He chuckled as he said: Oh. Yeah, no, no, I haven’t decided on it yet. Still not a fan of hair products.”

Armie’s smile indicated that he was listening, even as he pushed open the door and crossed the threshold. “You’ll figure things out in time.” He turned to Timmy as his he leaned against the edge of the door with one of his toned and long arms. “Well, Timmy, it was nice meeting you.” His eyes softened. “If there’s ever anything you need, you know where to find me.” And the younger man nodded in agreement. “Yeah, likewise. I’m just up the stairs, 183B.”

“Right above me?”

“Yeah… I think I am.”

The blonde chuckled. “You a dancer?” Timmy’s face contorted as his brain was unable to read the intention behind that question. “I enjoy dancing at times… Why’d you ask?” Yet Armie simply shook his head and stepped back as to make room for the door being shut. “Have a nice evening, Timmy.”

“Yeah, you too.” Timmy managed to add before the door fell shut, Armie’s presence had disappeared and he was left with the echoed, metallic clangs of the lock and chain.

* * *

Another week had passed and Armie, slowly but surely, became more familiarized with his new surroundings and living quarters. Nanette’s presence was a guide that he similarly found within Rosie. Her being a part of this again, much like Rosie had been in his childhood and early adolescence, brought normalcy to his daily routines. The coffees they shared after long days at work, the conversations that had no linear path and handled no particular topic, eased him tot a state of comfort he had become accustomed to in Santa Monica. His part time job at Rosie’s coffeeshop aided in the journey toward structure in his life and provided him with the daily social interactions that, being the social butterfly that he is, he needed more than anything.

“Morning.” He heard a soft voice say behind his back as he turned the key in the lock that morning. He had mimicked the greeting and now stood face to face with his upstairs neighbor. “Time for your morning shift?” He sent a quick nod. Timmy was the friendly face that would greet him every so often when they happened to run into each other in the hallway. He was a cute kid, but what interested Armie most was the concept of such a young individual already renting a place of their own and making it seem so easy to juggle the responsibilities of career and household. At his age, Armie had been stuck in college, sharing a room with another student that he rarely caught wind of. That time in his life he’d spent either studying until the late hours of night or nearly drinking himself into a coma-like state. There were no in-betweens, it was one or the other. The idea of cleaning one’s room, let alone the remaining rooms in the student house, wasn’t even close to being a priority. And Timmy’s ability to effortlessly do so, or at the very least conveying that impression, was admirable to Armie. Some simply matured faster than others.

He tucked his keys away and had started his descent down the stairs, Timmy by his side as he followed. “On your way to Rosie’s?” The young man smiled. “Yeah, I need my morning coffee. But before that I have to pick up a book that I ordered a while ago.” They turned a corner and headed for the final set of stairs. “I can give you a ride if you want.” Timmy had stopped dead in his tracks, watching Armie continue his descent, before it dawned on the man, and he also, had stopped. He looked back and was met with the puzzled look on the boy’s features. “We’re headed in the same direction, might as well.” He sent him a reassuring smile that seemed to have an immediate soothing effect on Timmy. “But if you feel like walking, that works too.” Armie added playfully and had began descending the stairs once more. Timmy jogged down in urgency, though he probably only intended to keep up with the older man. “Yeah, sure. When you put it like that.”


	4. Chapter 4

And waiting outside, parked just a few meters from the apartment building: a silver colored Bentley Continental GT. And in that moment Timmy suddenly felt so small. He hesitated to near the vehicle, hyperaware of its worth and attempting to swallow the knot of middleclass rank that underlined his very being. The knowledge that Armie possessed such a luxury only strengthened his curiosity to what the inside of his residence might look like. If the man had such a fine taste in vehicles, was it really such a stretch to envision his furniture, interior decorating and overall, his very own belongings to be of equal worth? Was his home furnished with designer names? And it only worsened as Timmy mentally visualized his own apartment. Surely, he was young, and it was a known and widely accepted reality, that young adults, or at the very least the majority of them, did not possess the means to achieve such wealth. For a second, he outweighed the price tags that once belonged to Armie’s outfit, or for what is was worth, his entire wardrobe. What if his turtleneck cost more than Timmy’s monthly rent?

Then it dawned on Timmy: how did he make this amount of money? Surely, his part time shifts at Rosie’s didn’t pay enough to afford high end possessions of the likes of a 600 dollar turtleneck. And this realization only fueled his train of thoughts to pick up its speed. What career path had he strayed from? Had he been a known name in the business world? Or could it have been an inheritance? Once more, Armie’s voice managed to instantly derail said train.

“Are you planning on getting in or do you need a few more minutes alone with the car?”

The tone of his voice was playful, almost joking. He _was_ self-aware, despite not sounding snobbish. Timmy hastily climbed into the Bentley and let his green eyes wander over the white leather interior. He jumped a little when a sensor pinged, and upon searching for the source of the sudden sound, found Armie checking a touch screen monitor, that displayed a rearview motion camera. As the man started the vehicle and threw the car in reverse, he said: Feel fee to turn on the radio if you’d like. And Timmy _would_ have liked to, if only the second touch screen monitor hadn’t been impossible to figure out for his untrained eye. The older man had caught his hesitation and tapped a button on the screen, which switched the display to a screen which resembled a radio app that Timmy had seen before in Ellie’s car. After he flipped through a selection of radio channels, Timmy decided on one that played generic pop music, and with music slowly pouring through the surround sound speakers, he leaned back in his seat.

The car had passed the first block when Armie’s voice resounded again: If you don’t mind me asking, how old are you? He eyed the younger boy from the corner of his eye. “It’s just that you look rather young to be living by yourself.”

A question Timmy had become quite familiar with. He had his slender build to thank for that mostly, and if not that, he had finally found a reason to justify buying all those brands of expensive moisturizers and day- and night creams. But upon second thought, Armie appeared youthful as well.

“Twenty-two.” He replied with a smile, in the hope to convey the question had not bothered him. But now the thought of Armie’s age refused to shake him. He released Armie’s blue eyes and fixed his gaze on a random light on the dashboard as his mind trailed off, as it tended to do. The man in question watched in amusement as he could almost perceive visible thinking fumes coming from the boy’s head. He turned his attention back to the road ahead, breathing a chuckle into his turtleneck. “31.” He then said, and the words served as a much needed relief for Timmy, having the almost identically soothing effect Isobetadine was known to have to open wounds and scrapes, as to his wandering thoughts. “It’s okay to ask. I’m not sensitive about my age. That is the least of my concerns.”

Timmy nodded and tucked a stray curl behind his ear, only to look back up and find Armie’s perfectly sculpted face again as he continued the conversation with great ease. He _really_ made it seem so easy…

“So, what do you do? College?”

“Hoping to receive an English Major.”

Both the car and the conversation came to a halt with regards from California’s well known and resented early morning traffic jams. Timmy poked his head forward as he tried to calculate the severity of the situation. “You best get used to those; they are a common part of everyday life in San Francisco.”

Armie simply nodded with closed eyes, almost in defeat, or perhaps in acceptance. “I’m starting to understand why you’d want to walk to your destinations.” Timmy leaned back in his seat again, head turned to the window and the line of cars that had formed around Armie’s car, only to turn back to the man when he greeted someone, and Timmy realized the car came equipped with a handsfree call option: Of course it did.

“Morning, Nanette.”

A woman’s voice mimicked his words. “Morning. On my way to work, stuck in traffic. Thank God I left early this morning.”

Timmy looked back out the window, peering inside a black Volkswagen that hummed quietly next to them. A middle-aged man sat behind the wheel, in the backseat were two smaller children, a boy, roughly 10 years old, eyes glued to a Gameboy, and a girl that couldn’t be much older than 4, as she was secured in a booster seat and waved around a small plush toy.

“How’s the new place been so far? How are the neighbors? I remember my first flat and I had a couple of youngsters living above me. At times I’d wonder if they had a pack of deaf elephants as pets.”

Armie’s chuckle was pleasant, Timmy had to admit. And it revealed a number of laugh lines near the corners of his eyes that were quite handsome.

“First impressions were good.”

“Oh, traffic’s clearing up. Want to grab a coffee after work? Say 7?”

“Sounds good. Drive safe, see you at 7.”

And with a simple click, the call had ended and the generic beats from some easily forgotten pop song returned.

* * *

That afternoon Timmy pushed past the doors of Rosie’s coffeehouse, eyes scanning the place until they landed on a table in the back. Granted, the waving hand that greeted him upon setting foot inside, might have been what his brain picked up on first. He sent Rosie a polite smile as he passed the counter and took a seat across from Armie, at the table where he was likely having his lunch break. He hung his coat over the back of the chair. “Is that the book you went to pick up?” He nodded and eyed the plastic bag that rested in his lap. The older man put his sandwich down after which he wiped his hand on a few paper napkins. “Mind if I had a look?” Timmy noticed how Armie’s eyes never failed to match the genuine warmth that the man’s smile radiated. His aura had been very welcoming since the moment they had met. He reached inside the bag and slid the paperback over the table toward the blonde, who eyed the cover and backside in silence. He then nodded, as if to say: Looks interesting, and pushed it back to Timmy’s side of the table and sinking his teeth back in his food. “Any plans after lunch?” He asked, wiping away a few crumbs from the corner of his mouth and Timmy shook his head as he put the book away. “Not really… I figured I’d spent the afternoon on the couch and read.”

He put the bag on the floor, resting it against one of the legs of his chair. “I also have this brand of chamomile tea that I wanted to give a try.”

“Add a pinch of milk.”

And Timmy’s jaw fell. “You do that too?! Most of the people that I know call me crazy for adding milk to my tea!” Armie merely shrugged with a smile lingering on his lips. “Everyone knows tea tastes better with a pinch of milk.” Timmy’s heart fluttered. “Have you ever tried adding a coffee spoon of honey to green tea?” A shake of the head from the older man as he wiped his hands. “But now that you’ve brought it to my attention, I’m curious to give a try.”

Timmy laughed into his fist, running with the feeling that he might have found a hidden connection with his new neighbor. Not even Ellie shared his thought process behind adding milk to tea, and he had been convinced that Ellie was his cosmic sister from another bloodline. His blood ran cold when he sensed a warm sensation spread over his knuckles and before he traced the origin, Armie had spoken: You shouldn’t do that. He removed his larger hand from Timmy’s and screwed open a bottle of Coke. “Don’t cover your mouth when you laugh. You should never hide a genuine smile; it’s what makes humans irresistible.


	5. Chapter 5

As Timmy added a dash of milk to some chamomile tea, his thoughts wandered back to Armie. Their relationship, if that were even a word to be considered to describe what connected the moments they had shared in each other’s company thus far, had moved rather fast. He opened the fridge and put the milk back on its designated place on the shelf and remembered their first interaction. It all followed a path of prior happenings which Timmy would rather have ignored, or if it served impossible, tried to avoid all together. The initial start marked the juncture of having agreed to a date with some girl from campus, which had proved to take the shape of a pleasant meal at an Italian place. Their conversations were fluid and organic, the opposite of the more forced and steered dates he had gotten roped into over the last six months. This time, Timmy actually wanted to meet for a second time, and meet for a second time they did. A bike ride down the Bay Trail. And it went well… for the first two hours, that was. Halfway through the bike trail, when they had passed the SF Bay area, and had made it to the nature filled hills under the Golden Gate Bridge, they reached a slope. The girl, a short blonde named Emily, skipped to a stop atop the incline and studied the deep decline that continued the path forward.

She had carefully mounted her bike again after having taken a short break, following Timmy’s lead as he reassured her, he was quite familiar with the rough terrain, and she should do as he did. Gravel scraped below the tires of their bikes and the rubber soles of their sneakers, creating a cloud of dust in result that chased their descent. Timmy closed his eyes and threw his head back, reliving memories of himself and Eddie, a friend he had made during his first year in college, skidding down these paths with ease as they pursued the sunset. His bike hobbled across the dried soil and stray pebbles, and upon reopening his eyes, Timmy spotted the indent ahead, that had likely been formed by heavy rainfall and had pulled the hardened sand down as the clay-like material gathered moisture. He threw the steering wheel to the right, pushing his feet down abruptly and managed to jump off just in time to avoid landing face first in the pit. He hadn’t the time to warn Emily and could only watch in horror as she was moving in faster. Her eyes grew wide before the front tire of her bike got stuck in the pit and it sent her flying forward. Timmy had pushed his bike to the side, where it landed in a patch of high grass, and rushed over.

The following week during lectures, he dared not to look Emily in the eye as she sat there, an arm covered in a cast and a number of scrapes and nasty bruises lining her cheek and knees. She had given him the silent treatment which, over time, had evolved into a lack of interest all together. Defeated, Timmy had shared the story with Ellie that Sunday over a cup of coffee and a pepperoni pizza they had ordered in. Ellie had comforted him. She had also laughed, and she had ruffled his hair with a heavy hand, as if the weight of her caress were meant to tell him that it wasn’t the end of the world. And it hadn’t been, it was just a disastrous date, and Ellie assured him it wouldn’t be the last either. This eventually lead to Timmy avoiding other women all together, which then lead to the certain self-doubt that was an only natural result. Enter Ellie Chambers: Hair stylist and cosmic sister from another bloodline. The rest was history: A dependence on caffeine, catching up at Rosie’s and coming face to face with beauty… only this time, it did not come in female form.

And it wasn’t the case that Timmy was unfamiliar with attraction to and from the opposite sex. Eddie, the beforementioned friend he made in college, had been fairly open about his physical attraction to Timmy. Were there feelings involved, asked Timmy. No, I don’t think so, I just think you’re irresistible, Eddie had answered. _Irresistible_ , that was the word Armie had used to describe Timmy’s smile, his genuine smile, which he tended to hide behind a hand, ever since he had seen a short video made by his sister, Pauline, during a trip to a campsite in France, close to Noire where their father had grown up. When he smiled, his mouth tended to hang open, much like a horse lapping its tongue at a handful of flies buzzing near its mane. And he hated it, he despised how goofy it looked. Yet Armie seemed to like seeing it, could it really be that bad if a man with a Hollywood smile, approved of it?

He had shared a few kisses with Eddie—that’s where the exploration of the opposite sex began and ended. He had enjoyed the experience; Eddie was gentle despite his visual arousal. As they writhed on the couch of Eddie’s flat, he had felt the outline of his erect member rub against his abdomen a number of times. It was exciting—an entirely new world to explore and lose himself in—but Eddie was too honest to take advantage of Timmy’s willingness to take it a step further. As if Eddie knew that Timmy’s body, and in addition to that, his limited sexual experience, were somewhat of a holy monument, a relic kept behind glass walls, only to be worshipped and admired from afar. It left Timmy with a taste in his mouth he was unable to identify since. Had his experience with Eddie awakened parts unbeknownst to himself? He hadn’t a clue and moved over to the living room, where he sat down on the couch and wrapped a white blanket around his slender frame. Then an image of the expensive Bentley flashed before his eyes, reminding Timmy that he would never be on the same page as his downstairs neighbor. Regardless of his past before moving to San Francisco, the man must have enjoyed the luxurious lifestyle most could only dream of. Could that have been the reason to his move? Timmy thought. An attempt to escape that very lifestyle?

_If there’s ever anything you need, you know where to find me._  
_First impressions were good._  
_Everyone knows tea tastes better with a pinch of milk._  
_Don’t cover your mouth when you laugh. You should never hide a genuine smile: it’s what makes humans irresistible._

Shit.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm aware, it's rushed. It's a quickie that will have to do, until I have time to sit down and write properly.  
> Hope that is alright.

7 Weeks later.

The month was November, the time was 7:13PM, the season was: _The fucking heart of winter._ The streets and sidewalks were covered in a thick, almost impenetrable blanket of snow. As far as the eye could see, white and grey tones. And smack dab in the middle of a particular sidewalk, back turned toward the line of neighboring buildings, sat a young man on a wet and dirt-covered, cemented stairway. His lithe frame shivering under the thin fabric of a whitewashed Mavi denim jacket, his dark wavy hair moist and the ends gathering melted remnants of snowflakes, and the red undertone of his skin more vibrant than ever as it suffered under the icy touch of mother Nature, encouraging his blood vessels to narrow to reduce blood flow near the surface. A subconscious and automated biologically built-in defense mechanism of the body. The street had been deserted all day, with the exception of the bold and stubborn, the dumb and brave and the winter service vehicle in the morning. With trembling hands, that appeared ghoulishly grey/red tinted in the current lighting conditions and seasonal wrath, the young man attempted to operate his phone—despite the rapidly melting flakes causing the screen to get moist, making typing nearly impossible, if not downright impossible.

“Timmy?”

Snow cracked under heels, heels that drew nearer—carrying a tall and broad figure toward the outside entrance of an apartment building. Timmy pushed his soaked strands of hair back, no longer giving a singular fuck about his outward appearance, and peered up from the rim of his eyelashes. In the vast sea of blinding white and monotone greys, he caught a glimpse of perfect bone-structure, the most royal of royal blues, and a slight tint of red adorning an, otherwise tanned, face. “Are you alright?” 

_No, he wasn’t fucking alright._ He had been sat outside for well over an hour, could barely feel his limbs, and felt like a wet dog due to his wet clothes clinging to every inch of his body. Yet despite his physical discomfort, the view on Armie’s concerned facial expression, in combination with his well dressed appearance, eased his mental discomfort. _If he were to die of hypothermia, at the very least he’d been blessed with one final view of absolute perfection in the flesh._ If he hadn’t already cursed Ellie with 10 variants of black magic, voodoo magic, and satanic magic in his mind, he was convinced that she’d snort her nose at his situation. _Hopeless little boy._

He felt two strong arms pick him up from the steps and his knees buckled due to the sudden flow of blood that raced down the limbs. He was carefully guided up the steps and held in place with a singular arm, as another fumbled with a keychain. Before he knew it, he entered the older man’s apartment and was told to take a seat on the grey couch. “I’ll fetch you some warm clothes and a towel to dry off.”

And while he was slowly drying his hair, Armie had already moved over to the kitchen and added a tea bag to a mug with boiled water. The towel smelled nice: a hint of shower gel, shampoo and… _something else._ “You could’ve come to Rose’s instead.” He walked over to Timmy, bent down a little as he handed the younger man the mug and squinted his eyes a little. “You know better than that.” Timmy lowered the towel and took the mug in both hands, moving back a little when Armie reached for the towel and threw it over his arm and started moving toward the hall. “Take your time to finish your tea. Warm up a little and then you can take a warm shower. The bathroom is down here, last door in the hall.” Timmy turned his head and nodded quietly. With Armie moving around down the hall, presumably in the bathroom, running a shower himself, freshening up and washing away the marks the season had left on him, Timmy leaned back in the couch. It was rather comfortable, and the apartment seemed to be warming up along side him. Armie must have turned on the heat a little on his way to the bathroom. Timmy took another sip of the tea, chamomile with a dash of milk, and he chuckled.

That very sense of ease quickly abandoned his very being, the moment it dawned on him where he was. _Armie’s apartment._ His fingers clenched around the heat resistant teacup and his eyes instinctively darted around the place. The furniture looked like they belonged in a designer-catalogue, must have been expensive. And then a second revelation: Armie’s apartment was almost double the size of Timmy’s apartment. Perhaps this floor had the bigger residences? Or was this the only roomy apartment in the entire building? Timmy could only imagine the monthly rent for a place this size…

“Don’t ever do that again, you hear me?”

Timmy nearly jumped out of his skin when a yellowish fleece was thrown over his legs and a large hand ruffled his hair. He followed Armie with curious eyes when the man continued to move around in his apartment. This time he ended up in the kitchen again and had begun slaving over some left-over dishes. “I’ll have to call a locksmith.” Armie raised his head and locked his light eyes with Timmy’s darker ones. “I forgot my keys at Ellie’s this morning and she, uh, … She went to visit her mother for the weekend.” Armie nodded in silence. “She won’t be back before Monday evening.” And Timmy wasn’t certain how to gauge the situation. Armie oozed tranquility, as if he were in his element, which made sense, he had returned home after a long day at work—But he had also taken a complete stranger in, brought him up to his apartment and offered his bathroom. _How often does one take home a stray human?_

“Save yourself the trouble and money.” The kitchen towel was hung back on a hook. “You’re more than welcome to stay here until your friend gets back. But if so…” A playful grin latched itself onto his flawless features. “… We’ll have to trade places.” He put a hand down on the countertop of the kitchen island and put the weight of his upper body on it. “I will take the couch, so you can get comfortable in my bed.” Timmy immediately protested. “I won’t be held responsible for your sore back in the morning.” He lowered the teacup on the coffee table. “You’re 6’5, I can’t expect you to cram yourself on a small couch for 8-9 hours.” He crossed his arms against his lithe chest. “You were kind enough to have taken me in, I’d be a horrible guest.”

Armie just smiled. A simple smile, no hidden meaning, no meaning at all, perhaps. A simple smile that made Timmy stop in his tracks, take a deep breath and calm down. He ducked his head and averted his eyes, pressing both of his hands between his thighs. “I’ll … Go for that shower now, if that’s okay.”


	7. Chapter 7

The showers did help his body warm up faster. And during those 30 minutes that Timmy had spent under the warm rays of the showerhead, he had taken his time to take in Armie’s bathroom. The room itself could compete with one of those 5 star hotel bathrooms: Black wall tiles, a rather large walk in shower that could host a party of at least 4 people, 2 marble tiled sinks with an enormous wall mirror that stretched along the length of the wall. On the marble countertops were a number of skincare and general hygiene products displayed. Moisturizers, scrubs, shaving creams and butters, a number of bottled colognes and deodorants, a black-painted porcelain mug that held a toothbrush and a small container attached to the wall that held the toothpaste, mouthwash, day and night cremes, a small and probably recently opened and discarded plastic bag of razors, a few bars of soap that were kept in a small wooden box, the usual type of no-touch, push-down bottles of hand soap and… What was that? Timmy let the damp towel hang around the backside of his neck and shoulders and leant in closer. _Ball Butter?_

Timmy picked up the small tube and turned it over so he could read the ingredients. _A type of crème to be applied to the testicles to produce a more natural and welcoming scent._ The idea of Armie bending over backwards in order to apply any kind of substance to his balls, made Timmy snicker. Then again, Timmy could appreciate and respect a man that took proper care of himself and his body. As his mother would often say: You are only given one body, treat it as a sacred temple. And here Timmy was, convinced that he was too eager to lather his skin with a myriad of cremes, yet he was proven wrong. All the products on his skin, yet terrified of the idea of putting any in his hair. Funny how these things work out. He put the tube back in the small box and wiped a line of fog from the mirror and continued to dry his hair as he observed his reflection as it followed his every movement. He slowed his movements when there was a knock at the door. “Yeah?”

“Timmy? I’ll put your clothes in the wash tonight. They should be dry by tomorrow.”

Timmy turned back to his reflection and cracked a small smile. “Yeah, that’s great. Thank you.” He listened for a moment as Armie’s footsteps faded to the background, until they became undetectable and then threw the towel in the basket. He moved over to the clothes Armie had given him earlier and picked up the sweater. The fabric had an off-grey color, free from any prints and felt soft to the touch. Timmy turned it around and inside out before pulling it over his head and poking his arms through the sleeves. He moved over to the mirror and angled his body in a few positions, chuckling to see the excess of fabric fold and swallow his torso and arms whole. Next, he stepped into the shorts and thanked God for it having strings that would make fastening it a tad easier. Content after the nice shower, the clean clothes, he nodded at the mirror. His eyes traveled back to his torso and he paused for a second. He eyed the fabric, brought a hand closer, grabbed a fistful and brought it up to his nose. _It had the exact smell that lingered on the towel._

When he entered the living room, he found Armie lounging on the couch, phone in hand and a relaxed expression on his face. Timmy walked over and sat down next to the man and had noticed that he had already cleared the teacup that Timmy had discarded and that it had been replaced with a freshly made one. The younger man reached for it and brought it up to his lips, gently blowing into the liquid. He couch cushions dipped a little when Armie moved in and showed Timmy the screen of his phone, there Timmy found a picture of a young child. A boy, roughly the age of 10 or 11 years old, with a wide grin on his face, showcasing his imperfect teeth, some of which missing, others starting to grow in place—and he leaned in to get a better view. “My brother’s kid, Oliver.” Armie said, and Timmy noticed small laugh lines appeared near the older man’s eyes. “He will turn 11 soon, hence why I was planning a visit. I figured his birthday might be the best opportunity to remind him he has an uncle.”

Timmy smiled, perhaps due to the fact that Armie’s smile had been so contagious. He lowered the teacup to his lap, holding onto it with both hands—thank God for those heat-resistant teacups. Armie scrolled down to a second picture, this one showed Oliver on a small bicycle, with a mischievous glint in his blue eyes. “They’re expecting a second addition to the family.” Armie’s voice stated, almost as if the man had read Timmy’s mind in that exact moment.” Isabel, my sister-in-law, is due for January.” Timmy shifted on the couch, pushed himself deeper and bent his knees behind himself. “Another boy?” Armie’s gaze appeared glued to the screen and it became apparent that he felt a lot of love for his brother and his little growing family. “A girl.” He said as he locked the phone screen and put the appliance on the coffee table. “Viktor is over the moon and it just fills me with joy to see how well he’s doing. I’ve considered visiting for a while. We haven’t seen each other in years, ever since his move to Silicon Valley.” His gaze shifted and landed on a random object in the room, as if it were a visible sign that he was trying to form the thoughts and words in his mind. “It’s just that things always came up. Work, family matters… The expected.” He finally added and locked eyes with Timmy, who had been listening intently. “He managed well.” His Hollywood smile returned, yet … It seemed less forced than it had appeared before. “He raised a beautiful son that he must be so proud of.” And Timmy’s assenting nod came to a slow stop when Armie’s eyes find his own once more. “Do you have any siblings?” The younger man let his gaze linger on the teacup resting in his lap. “I do, yes. I have an older sister.” He looked back up and into Armie’s eyes. “Pauline.”

The conversation trailed on a little longer, with Timmy mostly telling stories about his family and how they’d take trips to a campsite in Nice, France in the summers. He shared with Armie that he was half-French, on his father’s side and that he was fluent in French. Armie listened, fascinated, never once butting in, and allowed Timmy to speak—Until a question had formed in his mind. A question that had lingered there for the past few weeks, ever since they had first ran into each other in the hall. He shifted in his seat and placed a careful hand on Timmy’s knee, in an attempt to attract the boy’s attention.

“What made you move to San Francisco? I believe you told me, in an earlier conversation, that your family lives in New York.”

A faint blush crept over Timmy’s features and he laughed nervously. “Promise not to laugh? I… might have wanted to try my hand in acting. I applied for a theatre school, but the application got rejected. And by that time, I had met Ellie and Eddie and I … didn’t feel like giving that up just yet. So, I settled for English studies at uni.” He then smiled widely, which caught Armie’s attentive eye. “Speaking of dreams,” Timmy began, to which Armie nodded after having taken a sip of his tea. “Was it always your dream to work in a coffee house?” Timmy’s shy smile then took the form of a playful grin. He was self-aware. “Albeit a cozy one, run by lovely people and that serves some of the best coffee in the neighborhood.”

“I don’t think I ever had a clear idea of where I wanted to end up in life, to tell you the truth.” Armie stated casually, but calmly. “Ever since I was young, I followed the current and saw where it led me.” He shot a glance at Timmy from the corner of his eye and leaned back on the couch, eyes closed as his head fell back and against the backrest. “The motivation behind my move had been the need for a fresh start. My old home, while holding many fond memories, also holds unpleasant ones.” He paused for a moment, again running the words through a filter in his mind before he continued. “Some might say that I ran from them, but I’d like to see it as turning a page in that chapter of my life.” Timmy nodded. “How has it been so far?”

“The place is alive. No matter what time of day or what location you traverse, you’re always reminded of the hustle and bustle of the city.” He chuckled into the void in which his eyes had sought refuge. “Some resent the idea of a lively metropolis, but to me it’s a reminder that, though we all have different walks of life, we all share the same end destination”.


	8. Chapter 8

The next morning, Timmy roused awake to the sound of a constructions site spurring back to life. The young man waved his slender arms to the sides and sighed contently when his fingertips found the soft fabric of the grey duvet. He threw himself on his side, pressed his face into the pillow and took a deep sniff. The cover smelled just like Armie’s shampoo had smelled, smelled just like his bathroom towels had smelled, smelled just like his sweater had smelled. The roar of a jackhammer assaulted his ears and he had pushed himself upright with a groan and a sigh. When he moved the curtains to the side, opened the window a crack and peered outside-- he caught a glimpse of a metal-framed scaffolding, and a number of construction workers moving around. He watched them for a moment, thinking about what they might have been working on. A complete renovation of the building, maybe just renewing the roof? He looked down to the street below and noticed Armie’s Bentley was no longer parked in its usual spot—indicating the man had already left for work. Timmy closed the window again and tiptoed through the hallway and into the kitchen. A small note was pinned to the fridge that had confirmed his suspicion.

 _At work, will be home at 6. There are fruit, yoghurt and cruesli in the fridge. Help yourself to a nutritious breakfast. I left the spare keys in the bowl in the entrance hall. Don’t burn the house down, whatever you decide to do for entertainment. And no parties without me._

He chuckled and dipped a spoon in a bowl of yoghurt, as instructed, as he bumped the fridge door closed with his hips and his eyes trailed over the written note once more. Armie’s handwriting was messy, yet decipherable. Almost a cursive script, an interesting penmanship. Not the worst he had ever seen a man write—it was nowhere as bad as his father’s scribblings. He scooped a hefty amount of yoghurt and a singular blueberry into his mouth and walked over to the living room, where he sat down on the couch and flipped through a number of TV channels. As he continued gobbling down his breakfast, he grew more frustrated by the lack of interesting content on the television. By the time he had given up entirely and thrown the remote to the side, he had finished his breakfast. He rinsed it in the sink and placed it in the dishwasher, after checking if had been emptied the night before—which it had been, to his relief. 

With Ellie spending the weekend at her mothers, and knowing better than to annoy Armie during work, Timmy breathed out a sigh that underlined his growing boredom. Then again… He 1 _could_ stop by for coffee. There was nothing weird or stalkerish about that… It was set. He would go for his daily dose of caffeine at Rosie’s. 

As Timmy walked down the street and passed the construction site, he followed the building with his green eyes. It had looked like a complete renovation of the building itself, down to the supports and framing themselves. A number of the workers greeted him with a silent nod as they sat on the scaffolding with lunchboxes and a shared thermos of coffee, their bright yellow hardhats still steadily secured to their heads. When he turned the corner, Timmy wondered if Armie had been awoken by the same noise, and if not, if he were a deep sleeper. He couldn’t help but wonder what Armie had for breakfast and if he had made himself a cup of coffee as well. A number of cars were lined on the streets, some parked, others stuck in a small jam. Timmy hoped the weekend would pass quickly, only two more days left. He missed Ellie’s dramatic flair, her loudness, her nonsense… Her company. And this train of thought had followed the tracks all the way back to Edward Winters. He missed Eddie, had missed him on and off for a while now, found himself thinking back to the moments they had shared every now and then. 

On auto-pilot, he had pushed open the doors to Rosie’s Coffeehouse and joined the small line of customers that had formed near the register, awaiting their coffee-to-go. A gentle female voice pierced his bubble and lowered Timmy’s feet gently back to the ground. He blinked and locked eyes with Kimberly, a small blonde that had greeted him with a smile. He mimicked her words, watched her move from behind the counter to a table in the back and his eyes stopped following the path she had taken, when they landed on the tall, looming stature of his neighbor. Armie stood hunched over a large coffee machine, waiting for 2 mugs to fill up with the dark liquid—He hadn’t noticed Timmy. So much for feeling a stare, had the science been wrong? Luckily, the line moved rather fast and before he knew it, he stood eye to eye with Nick Williams, Rosie’s husband. Nick was a tall man, in his mid-forties, with almond colored hair that had started to fade to grey, kind and warm brown eyes, and the right amount of wrinkles surrounding his features. He was tall, yet nowhere near as intimidating as Armie. Timmy greeted him with a smile, placed his order and couldn’t help keep his eyes from trailing back to Armie, as Nick had taken Armie’s place at the coffee machine, and the taller man had moved over to the display case that held some pastries and other baked sweets. 

Armie looked cute in his work uniform—the white dress-shirt complimented his tanned skin, and the few buttons that he left open showcased the shape of his chest and collarbones. The back trousers were less impressive, Timmy wasn’t much of a fan of those, but it didn’t matter, as the white waist-trimmed apron covered most of its atrocities. The man’s dirty blonde hair, though it had darkened to a shade of soft brown once winter had slowly started to creep in, looked like it had been slicked back with a handful of product in the morning, but was now slowly starting to lose its hold. But his tousled hair still looked Hollywood-esque. Nick’s voice resounded and Timmy nervously took over the travel mug he had handed him. He handed the owner a five, told him to keep the change, ready to book it as he figured staying would only give away how much of a creep he had been. Nick hadn’t noticed his stares, Armie hadn’t noticed his stares—then why did Timmy feel so hyperaware of them? He turned and darted forward, looking forward to just push open those doors and breathe in the fresh air he so desperately needed—And got caught in a barrier. 

“Oh, God. I’m terribly sorry.” 

Timmy breathed through his nose, frozen in place, not daring to look up and admit to a random stranger that he had lost to his own admirations. Yet… That voice. He decided to look up through the rim of his thick eyelashes, only to raise his head immediately after and crash his lithe body into the stranger’s built one. “Eddie!”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I've been in and out of it for a few days. Anemia is acting up again, been feeling weak, and then good, and then weak, and then good on-and-off... If some parts are lack luster, it's due to me forcing myself to put something out there for y'all.
> 
> I hope you are still enjoying it. (And yes, I'm a sucker for slow build-ups) Sowwy!

“You haven’t changed a bit.” Eddie said when Timmy released him, and he had a moment to take in the young man’s features. Timmy bit back a grin and moved the travel mug over to the other hand. “You have.” And moved his free hand toward Eddie’s face—the dark beard that adorned his jaw to be more precise. Eddie tilted his head from side to side, showcasing the very facial hair that his long-time friend had been so enamored with. “Do you like it?” He lowered his eyes to meet Timmy’s and smiled. “I think it adds nicely to that ‘grown-up’ illusion.” Timmy chuckled and felt relieved to hear Eddie hadn’t changed at all. He might have aged in the time they spent apart, but he had kept his goofy and carefree side well nurtured.

Timmy followed Eddie toward a vacant table and sat down across from him. Eddie was well-dressed and his hair and facial hair were immaculate. Almost a shadow of Armie, and how well-put-together his aura beamed.

“God… It must’ve been—”

“—2 and a half years.” Eddie interrupted with a grin. “Rough estimate. I did not keep count, I swear.”

Timmy placed the mug on the table and rested his chin in the palm of his hand as he eyed Eddie up and down. “So, ‘mister career-man’.” He started and noticed how Eddie’s eyes had locked onto his and kept the gaze fixed strictly on him. “How’s that working out?”

Eddie Winters, or Edward—as that was his full name—had the dream of one day fighting for what was right, and thus had studied a number of fields: political science, economics, philosophy, journalism and most importantly law. Eddie was a well educated and intelligent man, though his child-like character might not always give that away. He had his sights on a career as a lawyer, and Timmy didn’t doubt his ability to succeed, no matter the chosen path he decided to embark on.

“Well, I was considering on living in my car.” He cocked his head to the side after having spoken those words in such a casual, matter-of-factly manner. “And you? Still studying hard, I might hope. You are still the diligent student I know you to be.” Timmy broke eye contact first. “I do my best.” Eddie shifted positions in his seat. “And you’re dating the most beautiful girl in town.” Timmy shook his head with a snort. “Don’t I wish.” He cocked his head and found Eddie’s eyes again. “You? Dating the Prince of Sweden yet?” And Eddie merely rolled his eyes playfully. “ _Don’t I wish._ ”

“Never held you for the jealous type.”

Armie jumped at the sudden intrusion of Rosie’s voice behind him. The woman moved past him and had begun stocking the batch of dishwasher cleaned coffee spoons. Armie blew some air past his teeth and let his head fall forward. “I’m not.” He said when he looked back up and wiped some beads of sweat from his forehead. And he wasn’t. As long as jealousy and being overprotective hadn’t become synonyms. His eyes lingered a second longer on the man seated across Timmy. Armie knew exactly how to translate the shimmer in his eyes, and the soft smile that pulled on the corners of his mouth. And Timmy responded positively to each and every one of those hidden social cues. _He wasn’t jealous, just worried._

* * *

Armie groaned as he slammed a hand onto the alarm clock, that he had moved from the bedside table to the coffee table and pushed his body upright. Faint rays of sunlight filtered through the arched window in the living room, and not a sound was to be heard in the rest of the apartment. He ruffled his bed-hair with a hand and made his way over to the bedroom, where he found a sound-asleep Timothée. His slender legs were tangled between the sheets—one leg resting atop the covers, the other safely tucked under it. His face slightly contorted as he lay face down on the lower edge of the pillow that bordered on the mattress itself. His dark curls tangled messily in- and around his face. Armie gently nudged the boy’s shoulder, then gently opened the curtains, and remained standing at the window. He too had noticed the construction site down the road.

Said boy rolled onto his back, allowed a hand to graze his bare chest, then opened his eyes halfway. A yawn escaped past his full lips and the other hand joined the former as he brought them both up to his face to rub away the remnants of sleep. Armie chuckled and left the window ajar—a breeze instantly invading the room, which caused Timmy to roll onto his side, back turned to the older man. He reached for his phone, which had been discarded on the empty side of the bed and checked the time. Another groan.

“It’s 7AM… Classes don’t start until 10.”

He closed his eyes again and pulled the pillow over his head. Armie’s footsteps traversed toward the door.  
  
“Then you’ll have plenty of time to get ready and have a nice breakfast.”

The door creaked and moaned as it was left ajar. Armie had left the room and Timmy found himself mentally cursing the man, much like he had done to Ellie prior, in many different languages.

* * *

The shower that followed was heavenly, the clothes – That Armie claimed he had found in an old suitcase that dated back to his college years—had fitted Timmy’s slender figure better. Unfortunately, they did not smell like Armie—instead, they smelled like they had gathered dust and air over the years. Armie had set aside a toothbrush and tube of toothpaste that he had picked up after work the night prior, and even a small razor and some shaving crème. The idea amused Timmy somewhat. His ability to grow any type of facial hair had been lack-luster ever since his teenage years. He was lucky if he had to shave twice a year. Yet the intent was there, and Timmy found it endearing.

As soon as he entered the kitchen, Armie’s voice spoke up: What are you in the mood for? He stood in front of the refrigerator, both doors opened, and the warm light illuminated his form perfectly. Timmy shrugged and lowered his head on to the wooden table leaf. He heard Armie shuffle around in the kitchen, but never bothered to open his eyes, yet was able to paint a clear image in his mind. Right about now, Armie must have taken out a carton of eggs and some bacon. Now, a skillet was put on the stove and a button of butter dropped inside. Then silence. Silence that dragged on. Silence that got under Timmy’s skin—he looked up. Armie stood near the corkboard and eyed a number of documents that were held in place with colorful thumbtacks. Timmy grinned.

“You look handsome in your uniform.”

It broke the man’s attention and he turned his head to look at Timmy. “What time do your classes end?”

“Around noon-ish. 2-3PM, usually.”

Armie sent a small nod. “Could you do me a favor?” He took a small receipt from the board and reached it to Timmy, who took it and eyed the faded ink that it held. “I have a suit and dress shirt at the dry cleaners. If you could be a doll and pick it up for me.” He added a smile to seal the deal. “You can hang it up in the bedroom when you’re back.” He had moved back to the stove and stirred the eggs with a wooden spoon, then he turned off the coffee machine and handed Timmy a mug. “I appreciate it.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love slow build-ups ~  
> Am I evil? Not even a little.

Timmy stood on the tips of his toes as he reached an arm for the massive wardrobe in Armie’s bedroom. A groan escaped past his lips, and he pushed himself up a little higher—finally managing to hook the hanger on the edge of the sliding door. As he took a few steps back and slicked some of his wavy hair back, he noticed his slightly reddened face in the mirror of said sliding door. He took a moment to take in his reflection and realized that he looked out of place. Surrounded by all of these expensive pieces of furniture, surrounded by all these walls that made up this expensive apartment. Armie had handed him a black turtleneck sweater and made sure to have Timmy’s jeans washed before morning. And as he drank in his reflection, Timmy couldn’t deny running with the idea that he looked like Steve Jobs… But with more hair. Or a younger Tim Burton. He needed a haircut… Or did he?

He sighed and moved through the kitchen. He had already taken care of dinner and had covered it in clingwrap and put it in the fridge. A zucchini cheese and mince casserole. He had already taken care of the dishes, already cleaned the kitchen counters and kitchen island. He had already ran a mop through the living- and bathroom. He had counted the amount of wall decorations littered through the apartment, had browsed the collection of CDs and DVDs—And Armie owned quite the collection. He had dared to open the man’s wardrobes and skimmed through his clothes.

He had given Eddie a call, and they had talked in length about Eddie’s internship at some law firm. He had already gone over some of his homework, had watched a random movie—only to fall asleep halfway through and wake up, dangling dangerously close to the edge of the couch, his face mere inches away from slamming against the edge of the glass coffee table. He had listened to a number of albums and had danced his way from the living room to the kitchen and back. Had received another text from Ellie, one of many in the last two days, in which she had apologized profusely and begged for his forgiveness. It was a side of Ellie he hadn’t seen before. He had attempted to think of a method to end world-hunger and war—No luck, unfortunately. He had counted the hairs on both arms—there were too many, so he gave up once he had reached the number 48. He had considered going for a walk, but snow had piled up on the streets, and he didn’t feel like facing the harsh cold. _By God, he was bored._

And then… a text.

Neighbor – 14:17PM   
_Put on a coat and a scarf (wardrobe in the entrance hall) and have lunch with me._

Timmy sighed. ‘ _Neighbor_ ’, he had to change that sometime. He pushed himself up from the couch and pulled open the wardrobe doors. There were a number of single- and double-breasted overcoats, parkas, long coats, duffle coats, chore coats, Chesterfield coats, raincoats, covert coats, ulster coats and Paletot coats. Timmy was somewhat overwhelmed with choice, and he browsed through the vast collection of fabrics. He eventually decided on a dark gray Loden coat. He fabric just barely passed his knees, and the sleeves were just right, despite an excess of fabric around the shoulders. He knelt down in front of the drawers and skimmed through the scarves—settling on a dark red one. The color bordered maroon, but not quite yet. He liked how it looked on him and could only hope to look half as pristine Armie would look in the same coat.

When exited the building, he found an Uber driver parked across the street, and... a second text.

Neighbor – 14:26PM  
 _Your carriage awaits. It’s far too dangerous to walk, wouldn’t want you to break something. Hope you’re wearing a coat, at the very least. See you in 10._

* * *

“You informed him beforehand, right?”

Armie nodded with a smirked as he continued to wipe the counter—moving a number of items as he did. Rosie’s gaze lingered a moment longer, almost as if she tried her best to burn the conclusion to their conversation into his head. Armie had contacted Viktor in the morning, not too long after having left for work. The conversation had been short and sweet, seeing how Viktor himself was also driving toward work. Armie had proposed a visit somewhere down the line—next week, if possible—and Viktor had said that he’d think- and talk about it with Isabell. Even joking that she was the one that wore the pants in the relationship.

“It has been at least 4 years since I have seen Oliver.” Armie said and ran a dry towel over the countertops. “Judging by the pictures, that kid grew like kale.”

Rosie glanced over her shoulder as she handed a customer their order and sent a nod. A nod that she hoped would convey that she was still listening—thus he continued.

“I didn’t want to plan the visit anytime sooner. Especially not now that I have a gue—” An elbow was abruptly jabbed into his ribcage, and when he looked up, he saw Kimberly nod toward the entrance, where a slender young man had just pushed past the doors and was now clumsily ruffling his hair in an attempt to remove some of the snowflakes that had gathered in the dark sea of waves.

“A guest.” He repeated, this time with a playful eyebrow wiggle, and rushed over to the register. “Psst.”

Timmy looked up and froze mid arm-wave when he found two pools of blue fixed on the red mess that was his fair skin. Armie merely smiled and waved a hand behind his back, which signaled Kimberly to clock in his lunchbreak. “Pick a table, I’ll be right with you.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will Timmy say yes?

Timmy watched in silence as people moved all around him. From customers coming and going, to the workers shuffling from one table to the next. Rosie stood fixed on her place behind the counter and showed her motherly smile to every face that came and went. Kimberly every so often blowing a few strands of baby hair out her face, that failed to stay fastened with the rest of her blonde hair that was pulled back in a high ponytail and Nick moving boxes to the back, which must have been recently delivered stock. The sound of conversations would rise and fall, increase and decrease in volume, and switch between being co-and incoherent. Timmy mindlessly browsed the menu, which had yet to change. The items offered were still exactly the same, and Timmy knew that he would settle on a simple vanilla latte, despite the vast amount of options.

A chair scraped on the floor as it was pulled back, and a mellow gust of wind followed, that blew past Timmy’s face and moved some of his curls. Armie’s large body had taken place on the opposite end of the table, engulfing the small wooden chair. His large hands moved in a rapid pace to unwrap a sandwich, and his blue eyes were fixed on the food, much like a starving cat eyes a pack of wet cat food being opened by their owner. Timmy put the menu back in the small, wooden container and moved his arms back a little. Instinctively giving the older man more arm room, despite him clearly not needing it. He smiled when Armie looked up and had taken a first bite, now gently nibbling, cheeks rounded. The sight amused Timmy and he rested his cheek in his hand. “Enjoy your food.”

Armie had nodded, swallowed, and responded: Thanks. He nodded toward Kimberly and turned back to Timmy. “A regular latte, right?” Timmy nodded and followed Armie’s eyes with his own, until they landed on the blonde that had given them a thumbs up from behind the counter. These lunch dates with Armie had become quite common, as of late. And as much as Timmy enjoyed the man’s company, he wasn’t sure how to read the intention behind them. He had accepted that Armie merely enjoyed the company, and since they were neighbors, Timmy had become a familiar face. But Armie could have just as easily invited Nanette or Kimberly to join him on his lunch breaks. It was probably nothing, Timmy told himself. Just Armie being a friend and Timmy just being a friend.

“You must have been bored out of your mind.”

Timmy blinked, and Armie wiped his mouth with a paper tissue.

“Not at all.”

Armie smiled. “You’re a bad liar.” And all Timmy could do is lower his defenses and smile apologetically. He had not wanted to be rude, but the truth is the truth. “Why didn’t you spend some time with your friend from earlier?” And Timmy sank deeper into his seat, suddenly feeling small. He had been certain Armie hadn’t been aware of his visit the day before. If he had been, why had he not greeted him? Did he not wish to intrude or disturb Timmy’s conversation with Eddie? That’d be ridiculous, as Timmy surely would not have minded. The young man blinked once more when he noticed something flash before his eyes and when he looked up, found Armie waving a hand in front of his face.

“You sure do space out a lot.”

Timmy chuckled. “Sure do.” He shifted in his seat and shrugged. “Eddie only stopped by for a day. He must have already reached Chicago by now.” He found Armie’s lingering gaze and continued. “He… He has an internship at some law firm there. We met at college.”

Armie nodded. “Some of the best friends in my life, I met through college.”

Kimberly smiled when she placed their orders on the table, ruffled Armie’s hair and walked away. And it left Armie chuckling as he attempted to slick his hair back to its original state. And in that moment, Timmy’s heartbeat quickened, and adrenaline caused his face to heat up. _Kimberly, of course_. How could he have not seen this coming? She was attractive, curvy, charismatic, funny…

“Timmy! Jesus, boy. When is the marriage?”

Timmy snapped out of it and nervously pushed back some of his dark hair—miserably failing to appear casual and nonchalant. And Armie had noticed his sudden change of demeanor—he had furrowed his eyebrows and lowered his bottle of Coke.

“Are you alright?”

A nod.

“Are you sure? Have you heard back from Ellie yet?”

“Y-yeah. She keeps apologizing, it’s driving me insane.”

A reciprocated nod. “If there’s anything on your mind … You can talk to me, okay?”

Timmy nodded whilst keeping his lips pressed together and attempting to avoid Armie’s gaze. His body was already giving too much away, and all he wanted was to get up and run as fast as he could. In any direction, whatever direction—as long as it was a direction that led him away from this table, at this coffee house, in this street, in this neighborhood, in this state, in this country, on this planet, in this universe. _For crying out loud, he was acting like a teenager in heat._

“I called my brother this morning. Trying to pinpoint a date for me to visit. Both he and Isa work long hours, so it can be iffy from time to time.”

The normalcy within the topic Armie had brought up, instantly calmed down Timmy’s heightened nerves. Perhaps the calm and deep voice in which he had spoken, might have had a hand in that. Perhaps it was the tranquility that shined within his blue eyes, or perhaps it was a combination of all of the above. Perhaps it was just… Armie. Yeah, that must have been it.

“And then I have to see if my schedule lines up with theirs. Though, I’m sure Rosie wouldn’t mind having to miss me for a day.”

The man took another sip from his soda and twirled the bottle between his fingers—awaiting the moment that Timmy had calmed down enough to feel comfortable meeting his eyes again. Comfortable enough to find the courage to speak again, comfortable enough to be his adorable self again. And that moment arose sooner than he had anticipated—when Timmy’s cheeks rose, and a grin took over his features—a glimmer reappearing in his green eyes.

“You must be stoked. Did you settle on a date?”

Armie’s heart melted.

“Somewhere next week, perhaps. He’d get back in touch whenever he was available. Knowing my brother, that will be directly after work.”

Armie’s chuckle had been contagious, as Timmy soon mimicked the motion. He had taken a sip from his latte, likely to calm his nerves in a self-comforting manner. Yet the boy froze when he felt the older man gently place a hand on his arm.

“I was hoping you’d join me.” And Armie felt Timmy’s arm tense up even more, thus quickly added: Nanette can’t make it and I’m sure the kids would love to have a playmate.

Timmy’s mind raced at a mile per minute. Armie had invited him into his most intimate, inner circle. He hated Nanette for canceling, he hated Ellie for putting him in this situation, he hated Armie for the sudden proposition and he hated himself for hating everyone and everything in this very moment.

“No.” He spat. “I mean, no, I ca---I shouldn’t—I’m probably not welcome. I mean, that—that’s your brother and you are visiting—he expects his brother. Not some random kid that happens to live in the same building—and his wife doesn’t know me, so-so she has no reason to trust me with her children. What if I were a kidnapper? What if I were a criminal?”

Armie listened, amused, as Timmy ran his mouth in a complete state of utter panic. When the younger man fell silent as he drew breath, he quickly intercepted and interrupted, what must have been, another minute of incoherent and nervous rambling.

“You can. And you should. And you are most certainly welcome. Viktor would love to meet you, as would Isabell and the kids. And you are not a kidnapper nor are you criminal, unless there is something you have to tell me.”

Timmy shook his head vigorously, eyes widened, his cheeks tinted a hue of deep red.

“I would appreciate the company, Tim. _Please_ , say yes.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone is still well -- washing their hands and diligently wearing their masks-- stay safe!

Armie carefully lifted Timmy’s arm to remove the blanket and drape it over the younger boy’s sleeping frame. In the kitchen, he took a bottle of water from the fridge and marked a date on the calendar that hung next to the cork board. He and Viktor had settled on the weekend, given Oliver’s birthday party was planned for next Sunday. He rubbed a hand through his eyes as he swallowed some of the water and sat down on the arm rest of the couch Timmy had fallen asleep on. With the bottle held between both of his hands, Armie looked over at the boy’s sleeping body. He had noticed how his lips were slightly parted, his hair messily draped his pale face, and how he had a firm grip on the pillow he had wrapped an arm around. Tightly pressed against his lithe torso, the fabric of Armie’s t-shirt (the one he had lent Timmy) having crept upward in time due to his prior movements and exposing the pale and tight skin of his abdomen. Armie sighed and let his head fall forward until his chin rested against his collarbones.

Before heading home after his shift, he had agreed to grab a drink with Nanette. He had contemplated asking Timmy to join, but after his meltdown at Rosie’s earlier that day, he agreed that it might be too soon to add more weight on his, already buckling, shoulders. He had enjoyed some alone time with Nanette, with the ability to vent and release some pent up frustrations about day-to-day life, himself, politics, some articles he had read online – just about anything that had elicited a reaction from him throughout the week. And Nanette would hear him out and halfway through comment that he’s overreacting, that the world is the world, and little can be done about the way in which it’s run. He had ordered two beers and a glass of wine—even got Nanette so far as to join him on the dance floor of the small bar. The woman had two left feet and kept tripping over Armie’s feet, but they had enjoyed themselves regardless.

Later that night, they had discussed relationships—or the lack thereof. Nanette had said that she had given up on her search for Mr. Right, Armie had tried to change her mind, to which she merely remarked that he was the one that got away, and in some sick, twisted, and demented way, they worked out better as friends, rather than girl- and boyfriend. It was at that point in the conversation, that Armie decided to call it a night and guide Nanette toward his car. Nanette had told him it’d be best if they took his car before leaving, and now Armie understood why. He helped her climb in the passenger seat and on their way they went. Once they had reached Nanette’s building, the stubborn woman had insisted that she was fine and that she could find her own damn apartment herself. And thus, Armie had kissed her goodnight on the cheek and waited until she had stumbled inside, and she disappeared behind the large and heavy entrance doors. Then he made a U-turn and headed home as well. He was eager to plop down on the couch and watch a random movie until he had passed out and Timmy had to wake him in the morning.

And his mind went blank upon that realization. He had become so accustomed to Timmy’s presence in his home, that he viewed him as a part of everyday life. And in a sense, he had become exactly that. They ran into each other most mornings, and Armie would offer him a ride to Rosie’s, or college if he were running late. They would often spend Armie’s lunch breaks together, and now, due to circumstances out of Timmy’s control, he had spent two nights in his bed already. _He would watch a movie until he passed out and Timmy had to wake him in the morning…_ Much like Nanette used to, and she cursed him for forgetting to put his alarm. She’d run the coffee machine and call him irresponsible under her breath, but would melt into his arms, the moment he had woken up and held her tight. Though, Timmy would never do that. He would never have the courage to call Armie immature, hell, he would never have the courage to point out any of his flaws. And Armie sighed once more. God, he hoped the kid hadn’t fallen head over heels for him.

Said kid had moved in his sleep and as he shifted positions, breathed out a soft hum. Armie leaned over him and pulled the blanket a little higher. Timmy shifted a second time, and it caught the older man by surprise, causing him to lose his balance and fall face first into the tangled mess of limbs on the couch. Within seconds, the younger man woke, and his breathing hitched as he tried to identify the threat. Armie groaned, trying to find an empty space on the cushions that would allow him to push himself up, but no matter where he reached, his hands would find a part of Timmy’s slim body. And, unlike the rise of panic with Timmy that Amie had expected, Timmy remained silent. He merely lay there, his eyes darting back and forth between himself and Armie’s long limbs flailing about. And then… a giggle.

Timmy giggled. He was still giggling, even after Armie had finally managed to sit upright and he had sent him a confused look. Timmy’s giggling had become louder and Armie couldn’t help but laugh himself. The younger boy had pulled up his knees, allowing Armie to lower himself down on the cushions, and covered his mouth with the blanket when their eyes met in the dark. Armie bumped his shoulder against Timmy’s and pulled the blanket from between his hands and had thrown it over his head. This caused Timmy to laugh even louder and lunge forward, pushing his head against Armie’s chest, blanket still covering him. Armie smirked and brought his hands up to Timmy’s torso, where he had begun tickling the skin he found there. Laughter increased in volume, as Timmy desperately flailed his limbs around, and he exhaled when the man removed the blanket and looked down at him. Timmy’s laughter slowly died down, and he found himself now staring intently into the older man’s familiar eyes. Armie shook his head with a faint smile tugging on the corner of his lips and pushed a few strands of hair out of Timmy’s face. And for once, Timmy wasn’t freaking out over his head resting in Armie’s lap, or over how long their eye contact seemed to last.

He felt at ease. He felt calm, and for once since he had met Armie—He had felt like he belonged.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jeez, this heatwave... Go away, please. *kicks fan into a higher gear* For the love of God...  
> And as always, enjoy the slow build-ups that I am known for and will forevermore torture my readers with.

Timmy hummed quietly as he pulled the covers up higher, and he felt the other side of the bed dip ever so lightly. He listened to the sounds of the sheets rustling, a phone being placed on the nightstand and eventually the flick of the button on the bedside table lamp. The duvet was raised, and a body moved underneath, the rustling of the sheets continued for a minute or two more, until all movements ceased and all that could be heard was the sound of breathing and the occasional passing cars in the distance. Timmy considered turning around, because all he wanted was to see Armie’s handsome face dimly lit by the thin rays from the streetlights that fell through the open curtains. He wasn’t sure if he should, or if Armie just wanted to hit the hay and sleep. But if he had already drifted off, taking a single peek wouldn’t do any harm, would it?

He turned around and pulled the duvet toward his nose, his eyes barely perceivable in the dark. He had feigned finding his position, fluffed the pillow a few times and dipped his head into the soft material, before coming to rest and fluttering his eyes open. There, an arm’s length away, lay Armie. The light elegantly hugged the sharp edges of his features and hints of it seeped into that small tuft of blonde hair on his chest. Their eyes met and both men smiled timidly. Timmy felt the urge to inch closer—if only it were to feel the man’s warm breath against his skin. And Armie fought against the urge to bring a hand closer to the younger man’s face and caress the curve that ran between his cheekbone and jaw. Both men closed their eyes and sighed into the surrounding darkness.

* * *

Timmy had woken up before Armie, yet kept his eyes closed as to not give away this truth. Shrouded in darkness, he listened to the shuffling of the sheets, accompanied by the soft yet hoarse groans of the older man as he shifted from his side onto his back. A moment of silence had followed, and Timmy could only imagine that Armie laid still—eyes fixed on the bare ceiling, a thousand thoughts running through his mind as he lay there. Then, movement. The mattress dipped, like it had the night before, and two long legs were thrown down the side of the bed. A sigh, a swear, a chuckle unable to be suppressed. Armie turned his torso slightly and drank in the lackluster performance from the younger man. The corners of his mouth rose ever so lightly, and he pulled himself back onto the bed—leaned over Timmy’s slender body and brought his face closer to his. There, he held still and eyed the pale features on the boy’s face and the reddish undertones the skin held. He brought a hand closer, inching closer and closer… until he pinched the boy’s nose between two fingers. A pair of green eyes shot open and landed on a colder pair—lips that had taken the shape of a wide grin, followed by the nasal sound of laughter as he tried to pry himself out of Armie’s hold.

“You were awake.” Armie said softly, eyes still gazing into those of the other man. A nod of the head and Timmy felt his body go limp under Armie’s gaze.

“Coffee?”

Another nod and he followed Armie with his eyes as he had moved from the bed and had stretched his arms and shoulders as he made his way into the hallway. Timmy breathed out a sigh and found his eyes traveling to the exact point on the ceiling Armie’s eyes had rested moments earlier. What he wouldn’t give to gain the ability to travel inside the maze of his mind. Would he want to know what he’d find there? And if so, what lay hidden behind those endless stretches of walls and hallways?

He breathed out another sigh and pulled the covers higher until the fabric reached his nose and he was able to recognize that familiar scent again. He knew he was in too deep to come up with a subtle escape route. Most, if not all, exits had already been blocked off by the corners and walls of his heart, and as much as he knew struggling was an option, the want and desire evaded him. And he was far beyond the point of wondering why. He knew all too well why but hoped that Armie wasn’t able to pick up on the clarity as easily as it had been for Timmy.

“Timmy.”

The younger boy pushed his body upward and ran a hand through his tangled hair.

“Coming.”


	14. Chapter 14

Both men sat at the kitchen table, mugs in hand, eyes trying their utmost best to avoid one another gaze. The silence that had possessed the kitchen, had wrapped its arms around the accessible amounts of oxygen in the surrounding air—and Armie lost patience the longer it dared to drag on, uninterrupted and heavy. It felt like it had a firm grip on his ribcage, unwilling to release, sucking the air dry until it had become insufficient to bare. The ticking hands of the clock on the wall increased in volume by the minute, as did the sound of the fabric of Timmy’s t-shirt rustling as he shifted every so often in his seat. Armie sighed and ruffled his hair. The strands had long lost its summery blonde shade and had gained a more wintery shade of ash.

On the other side of the table, Timmy had traveled into the depths of his own mind palace. Within those confines, he had carefully retraced the steps he had taken last night. Falling asleep on the couch, and abruptly being torn out of that peaceful slumber by the weight of the older man pressing him deeper into the couch cushions. And he had remained silent as he calculated the situation—he hadn’t minded. Perhaps he had enjoyed the fleeting sensation of the man’s touch on his skin. He had already surrendered to his eyes; a logical evolution would have been a physical surrender. The realization that he was so willing to succumb to his neighbor came as a surprise. Timmy had yet to be in an actual relationship, so that concept was lost on him, but he had familiarized himself with physical substitutes. Not to the extent that he’d set out on finding sexual encounters left and right, truth be told, the last person he had been somewhat intimate with, had been Eddie. Two and a half years ago…

But it had become greater than himself. The inability to fight the urge to let his eyes travel along the curves of Armie’s toned chest and arms. Searching for approval in the man’s eyes as he did, while simultaneously fearing the mere idea itself. He had caught himself wanting to kiss the insides of the man’s elbows and lick the length of his bicep until his tongue had connected with his collarbones and then continue travel upward, up the length of his wide neck, where he’d let his lips rest behind his ear. Did Armie enjoy warm, breathy kisses behind his ear as well? Or was that just a quirk Timmy had to face alone?

He blinked and found an expression on Armie’s face that was foreign to him. Annoyed? Not quite. Angry? No. Lost in thought? No, his eyes weren’t entirely static nor fixed on a singular point. What he could say, was that regardless of the meaning behind said expression, it ruined the purity of the man’s natural charm.

How he wanted to migrate his hand toward Armie’s larger one and let it rest atop his. Feel the rough skin of his palm and fingertips—trace the outline of the visible veins present under the tanned skin and perhaps even feel the soft hairs synchronize their position with his movements. He wanted to press his head against the man’s chest, soak in the rhythmic pulsations of his heart, twirl a few of those blonde chest hairs around a trembling finger and whisper sweet nothings into the warm skin of the crook of his neck. Something, anything, whatever it takes to erase that expression from his face and allow beauty to return to the shape of him.

Armie gripped the mug tighter as he remembered the faint blush that had painted Timmy’s cheeks last night. Shrouded and kept in layers of innocence, unspoken desires, and the duvet. Unlike the handful of bodies that had occupied the same space on the bed, that had shared the same duvet—his was unlike any other. A young body so slender and lithe, fragile—meant to be kept warm and protected. And it had been nothing more than a natural instinct—masculine biology playing a part, yet at the same time, the need to fuck him six inches deep into the mattress had left him cold. There was no desire to claim his essence, no need to name the night after him, if only it were once. He wanted to keep him covered in that duvet, nicely tucked in—warm and secure—and see those messy curls tangle all around his form.

A priceless doll, one of a kind, handcrafted with love and precision—designed to be put on a shelf behind a glass wall.

A voice of reason, void of judgment, an apparition without reason—brought into his dull existence to guide him through broken shards of glass.


	15. Chapter 15

On an Italian designer sofa lay a young adolescent. His limbs were sprawled across the piece of furniture, head dangling off the edge as he listened to his neighbor and best friend make small talk in the doorway of the apartment. Three days had passed within the blink of an eye. Ellie had called him earlier that afternoon, when classes had just ended, and had informed him that she would be arriving earlier than expected—and that she would hurry home as soon as possible, so she could give him back the keys to his apartment. And in the moment, he had been ecstatic—more than pleased to finally be able to sleep in his own bed again and to wear his own clothes again—as much as his back had appreciated the soft mattress on Armie’s bed, and the smell that lingered on his skin after wearing his old college-days rags.

It also made him realize that Armie would no longer be around. He would no longer have anyone to talk to fist thing before and after drifting off, and that breakfast would no longer be spent in his good company. Heck, he also no longer would have had access to his stellar cooking.

He sighed as he watched both stand in the doorway with pleasant smiles on their faces. Even from an upside down perspective, clad in casual attire: a loose pair of grey shorts and a navy t-shirt, Armie looked immaculate. Ellie loved him—she had called him a real life version of Prince Alcott from Snow White—and it didn’t come as a surprise to Timmy. He found the mere idea of a single soul disliking Armie unfathomable.

He sat upright when he heard a third voice join the conversation, face pressed slightly into one of the decorative pillows and eyes peering down the edge of the wall that granted him a view on the hallway that lead to the front door. He had heard this voice before since he recognized the timbre. Soon the conversation had died down and had been replaced by the sound of footsteps nearing and the lock on the door clicking shut. Ellie had made a B-line for the curly-haired man and pressed a loving kiss to his temple. “It’s so good to see you, Frenchie.” She said as she softly ran a number of digits through his thick hair. “I can’t tell you how much I’ve missed you.”

Timmy had hugged her tighter and instinctively rocked back and forth in the warm embrace, whilst taking in the mixed scents of her fruity shampoo and expensive perfume. He had missed her more than he realized. When they broke apart, he scooted over to the other side of the couch and nodded toward the coffee table, when she sat down and had reached him his keychain.

“Ellie, coffee?”

Both Timmy and Ellie looked up when Armie’s voice resounded from the kitchen, where he and his other guest must have retreated back to. That familiar voice…

“I’d love some, thank you.” Ellie responded and had already risen and made her way over to the kitchen, where another woman moved her chair over to make room for Ellie. All Timmy felt able to do was take in the situation. The woman who sat next to Ellie had dark, shoulder length hair, a slight tan that was starting to fade and exposed her natural fair skin and a slender body type. She looked older than Ellie, but not by much. He still observed how Armie worked the coffee machine—a view that Timmy had gotten quite used to from his many trips to Rosie’s—and how Ellie attempted at engaging the dark-haired women into more small talk. He watched as Armie placed the mugs on the kitchen table and how both women eagerly wrapped their hands around the porcelain—as if they had been starved for its warmth. And then… Armie’s gaze met his and he smiled. Timmy’s heart dropped.

“Nanette, I’d like you to meet my neighbor. Remember? I have told you about him before.”

He had already turned his back again as he removed the used filter from the machine, and in its turn, Nanette turned her head and her dark eyes locked onto Timmy’s wide-eyed expression. Her gaze lingered for a second or two longer, and then she turned back to Armie. “I vaguely do.” She took a sip and with that the introductions were out of the way—or at the very least, for Nanette. Yet Armie shook his head as he dried his hands on a kitchen towel. “Well, allow me to refresh your memory: Timmy, this is Nanette Avery. Nanette, this is Timothée Chalamet.” Both exchanged a nod of the head, while Ellie and Armie watched with a similar expression dormant on their faces. Ellie chuckled at the playful wink Armie had sent her and Nanette had simply put her mug back on the table.

The next hour Timmy and Armie had spent listening to both women ramble about all the flaws humanity could possibly hold—more specifically: men. And then Nanette stood up—her chair scraping over the tiled floor when she did. “We need drinks.” And Ellie had followed her lead, purse already thrown over her shoulder. “Lead the way.”

Armie barely got a chance to wish them both a good night, to have fun and to drive safe, before their footsteps and voices died down and the door fell shut behind them. He breathed a sigh from his position leaning against the fridge and Timmy chuckled into the pillow. Armie had moved the abandoned mugs to the sink and had begun rinsing them off. “Now that you’ve got your keys back, I can imagine you can’t wait to go home.” Timmy shrugged as he dipped his face into the yellow cover.

“I was thinking…” He begun, quietly. Armie looked up.

“I might have some trash that I still need to take out.”

Armie nodded and continued to move a sponge over the mugs.

“There might be more than one bag. And… You know, they might be heavy.”

A cheeky grin took over the man’s features as he caught wind of Timmy’s intentions.  
“Ah, yes. And you might need a hand.”

Timmy nodded eagerly. “Yes, and I just so happen to know a big, tall, strong guy that might be able to do exactly that.”

“And that man coincidentally lives a floor below you. What are the odds of that?”

“I have coffee.” Timmy smiled.

“And I have taste for coffee.” Armie cooed. He dried off the last mug and leaned on the counter with both arms. “Alright, go collect your things.” Timmy had already jumped up and slid across the wooden living room floor with socked feet.

* * *

Armie politely followed Timmy inside the apartment and couldn’t ignore the sudden smell of air freshner that filled his nose. A fruity smell: lemon or lime. The hallway was a feast for the eyes: As soon as you set foot inside, you were greeted by a small dresser to the left side of the wall, where a number of lint rollers, schoolbooks and folders were displayed. A handful of flowerpots lined the top of the dresser, alongside a few figurines that Armie couldn’t directly identify. On the right side of the wall hung 3 horizontal wall mirrors, and at the foot a line of shoes neatly placed along the stretch of the wall. Above the mirrors, a wide coat rack was mounted that held a few coats and scarves. And next to the dresser stood a whicker basket, that likely held more winter attire—like beanies, mittens and… more scarves. The walls were pastel yellow in color, that faded to a mint green, teal color in the living room. Smack dab in the middle of the hallway was a white, fuzzy rug. And judging by the line of shoes, Armie figured Timmy would appreciate it when guests took off their shoes before entering. So, he dipped a dinger into the heel of his shoe and carefully placed them next to the others and continued following the younger man into this little sanctuary.

The living room looked rather cozy, there were decorations as far as the eye could see, a similar white, fuzzy carpet decorated the living room floor and housed the glass coffee table. And a fuzzy, white blanket, akin to the rugs, was neatly folded and draped over the back rest of a white couch. Next to the tv furniture, stood a long and wide bookcase that held the same amount of books he had always known his father to have in his office. As he continued to scan the room, his eyes stopped at a corner in the dining room, where a small, chocolate, and vanilla tinted dog bed rested. But he had never known Timmy to own any pets. And if he did, they must’ve starved in the three days he had been unable to return home.

“Please, have a seat.” Timmy spoke from his position in front of the fridge in the kitchen. “Coffee is on its way.”

Armie carefully moved some of the decorative pillows and blankets to the side as he sat down. “Take your time.” He brought his hands together as he leaned forward and tilted his head and tried to read the titles on the backs of the movies that were displayed on a shelf under the TV. “You’ve got a nice place.”

“Thank you.” Timmy’s voice could faintly be heard over the sound of the water boiler. “It’s nothing special.”

“You… have a pet?” Armie turned his head as Timmy leaned in the arch way of the kitchen. “I did. I adopted a cat from a shelter a year ago.” His eyes drifted to the corner of the room, where they found the little bed. “He was old, and they said he only had a few years left. Some kidney disease. I only had him for a few months before he died.” Timmy shook his head and breathed a sigh of defeat. Armie’s brow dropped. “I’m sorry to hear that. How did he die?”

“Well…” Timmy began and had disappeared back into the kitchen, where he poured water into two mugs. “I remember feeding him that night and I had spoiled him a little and had picked up a can of tuna after class. I mixed the tuna and dry food, he gobbled it all up, rolled up in his bed and when I woke up the next morning, on my way to class, I checked up on him and he didn’t move. He felt rather cold and was unresponsive, so I called the vet. She arrived an hour later and said he had passed away in his sleep.”

Armie smiled when Timmy handed him the mug and sat down next to him, eyes still fixed on the bed. “At least I have the knowledge that he died peacefully and had a great meal.” He chuckled and turned to his coffee. “His name was _Bon Chat_. Silly, right?” Armie smiled warmly and stirred his coffee.

“Good cat?”

“He was the _best_ cat. I just… wasn’t ready to remove the memory of him so quickly. Who knows?” He looked up at Armie.

“I might adopt a Bon Chat Jr. one day.”


	16. Chapter 16

Armie stretched his legs to the extents it was possible on the small couch. His toes graced the soft fluff of one of the decorative pillows that had been carelessly tossed aside halfway through the viewing of _La Vita é Bella_ —A movie Timmy had insisted on, trying his utmost best to convince Armie that is was a staple in storytelling and cinematography. Armie had agreed, perhaps due to the look of genuine passion that lined the younger man’s features, perhaps due to the fact that it had been years since he had last viewed the movie himself and he wouldn’t mind refreshing his memory on the story.

He felt his joints crack as the build-up of air released during the movement and looked down at the dead weight that lay slumped over his torso. It had been one of many nights that Timmy ended up substituting Armie as a pillow, not that it bothered him. But he couldn’t help but find his thoughts travel back to memories from which he had fled. He knew he best keep Timmy at a distance, but he had learned that telling to boy no, proved harder than anticipated.

The sound of the boiler in the pantry hummed in the background and a handful of candles that Timmy had lit the night prior, burnt out and molten. The man ran a hand through his face and then moved it higher and tousled his short-cropped hair. Yawning, he gently nudged the younger boy’s shoulder, who only hummed and hugged Armie’s chest tighter. From the position of his left arm—the one Timmy’s weight rested on—he only could pat his lower back. “We didn’t set an alarm.” The younger man hummed a second time and buried his nose in the crook of Armie’s neck. “Too bad.”

Armie chuckled and let his head fall back. “I have the afternoon shift…” He turned to look at Timmy. “But you have classes.” The boy’s green eyes shot open and his body followed suit, as it jerked up instantaneously. “No...” Now that his arm had been freed, the older man straightened his back and stretched both arms above his head—cracking his neck in addition. “What time does your first class start?” He flinched when the boy lunged his lithe body over the backrest of the couch in a jumping fashion. “10!” He had shouted in sheer panic, and a synchronized ‘thud’ was audible when his socked feet landed on the hardwood floor. Armie laid back, amused, and watched the boy jog from room to room, picking up and discarding pieces of clothing as he went. “If you hurry, you can make it in time for your second class.”

“WHAT DO YOU THINK I’M DOING?!”

Timmy slid into the hallway, stepped into a pair of shoes, had yanked a coat from the hanger and haphazardly thrown his bag over his bony shoulders. Armie shook his head and slowly rose from the couch.

“Timmy.”

Said man had knelt down to tie his shoes, the strap of his shoulder bag inching down the sleeve of his crookedly worn coat.

“Timmy.”

The boy pushed the strap up again and ruffled both hands through his hair as he moved in front of the hallway mirror.

“Tim!”

The man noticed that his voice might have sounded sterner than intended, thus he added a weak smile to soften the impact a little. But it had the desired effect, as Timmy froze into place and this green eyes were drawn wide. Armie took a few steps forward, passing the couch. “Let me give you a ride. It’ll shave off 15 minutes.”

In that moment, Timmy’s face became void of expression. He grabbed Armie’s sleeve and pushed him toward the door. “Put on your shoes! I’m already late! I can’t be late!”

Chuckling, as he found himself doing quite often as of late, Armie stepped into his shoes. “Alright, alright. Little chipmunk.”

* * *

Armie watched the young man sprint past the shop windows from his position behind the counter and sent Rosie a playful eyebrow wiggle. The doors swung open and said man rushed inside, past the line that had formed at the register—head darting back and forth in search of an empty table—and threw his bag down when he had spotted one in the back. He had taken off his coat, draped it lazily over the backrest of the chair and dropped his head on the table leaf the moment he sat down. Kimberly glanced over from a neighboring table and locked eyes with Rosie, who had shrugged and nudged Armie to inspect. The ash blonde put the kitchen towel down on the counter, removed his apron and utility belt and made his way to Timmy’s table. He hadn’t moved an inch, his face still tightly hugging the table leaf, a mess of brown curls sprawled everywhere.

“I have ordered us both a grilled cheese tosti.”  


“I don’t want cheese, I want death.”  


“Eat enough of it and your wish will be granted.”

Timmy looked up with a grin when Armie pulled a chair back and took a seat at his table. Today simply hadn’t been his day. Not only did he oversleep and miss the first lecture, he had brought the wrong bag with him, which lead to plenty of speeches from teachers on responsibilities and the lack there off in millennials. Not to mention bumping into the one girl on campus that moved around on crutches, sending her off to hug the pavement with her face, and as the cherry on the cake: a paper on the topic he felt most animosity toward, politics.

Armie shrugged apologetically when Kimberly had brought them their serving of coffee and grilled cheese sandwiches and could only smile when she walked away with her eyes lingering on the defeated pile of skin and bones that was Timmy Chalamet. The scent of coffee made Timmy tilt his head and connect it with his shoulder. He took the glass from the tray and had begun scooping off the first layer of foam with the spoon. “I’m sorry for the melodrama.”

“Feel free to vent all you want. We have cheese.” Armie spoke calmly as he stirred his cappuccino. Timmy looked up at the man for a moment and realized how lucky he was to have someone near to take on the role of his emotional rock. Armie’s tranquil aura never failed to radiate on to him and a mere glance could soothe his nerves. He eyed the cheese sandwich before taking it in both hands and beraking it in half. The molten cheese oozed from the halves and he could already smell the grilled ham and tomatoes. Armie spoiled him rotten. Absolutely rotten.

“I have been thinking…” He finally said, after having taken a first bite and still chewing. His eyes met Armie’s and he swallowed before continuing that thought. “Perhaps… It’d do me good to get out of here for a day. You know?” He lowered the sandwich and wiped his hand on one of the paper napkins. “To help me clear my head and just… not think for a little bit.” Armie could only nod as he was uncertain to the meaning behind Timmy’s cryptic words.

“I’d love to go with you when you visit your brother.”


	17. Chapter 17

Timmy had spent the first two hours of the night tossing and turning in bed. Moved his legs on top of the covers to back under the covers and vice versa. The sky was ink black in color and dimly illuminated by the faintest of stars— _With love, Californian smog_. He had turned on his side and watched the curtains sway on the breeze—counted the embroidered symbols, counted the number of times the fabric was lifted and gently lowered again. He breathed out a sigh and rolled over on his back, eyes now glued on the stark white ceiling. What in the world was he thinking? Agreeing to accompany Armie on his trip to Silicon Valley, to meet up with the brother hadn’t seen in over four years. Why would he agree to become part of such an intimate setting? He hardly knew the essentials about his neighbor and seven hours from now, he would set foot on his family's property and meet their eleven-year-old son.

What did he know about Armand, ‘Armie’, Douglas Hammer? Well… He clearly came from a family of wealth. Had a cold relationship with his mother, hasn’t seen his own brother in years, even fled his hometown. Oh, and he had maintained a close relationship with his ex, Nanette.

Timmy sighed and combed his hair back with a hand, then let the arm rest behind his head on the pillow.

He had no idea what Armie’s favorite color was, or favorite genre of music. He had learned that Armie didn’t participate in the concept of having favorite dishes, since he claimed he’d eat almost anything without complaint. But did these minute things really matter in the bigger picture?

He hoped that Viktor’s personality aligned nicely with Armie’s. If so, there would be less pressure.

He turned his head to the bedroom door, which had been left ajar and revealed a darkened hallway and pushed himself upright. Sleeping was no use at this point, and perhaps Armie would allow him to catch up during the ride itself. He dropped his feet on the hardwood floor and suppressed a yawn with a hand, then got up and sauntered into the bathroom, where he flicked on the light switch and rummaged in a whicker basket under the sink for a scrunchy. He tried to avoid his reflection in the mirror as he tied his hair into a miniscule ponytail, then moved over to the toilet and emptied his bladder.

What if Armie would be preoccupied with his brother and sister-in-law all day and he’d ignore Timmy? And he’d just sit there, listening as the grown-ups talked. Silent and obedient. Bored and invisible.

In the kitchen, he had already tossed 3 teaspoons of grounded coffee beans into a porcelain mug and was now leaning on the countertop with both arms as he awaited the water boiler to finish its task. In moments like these, he would normally turn to Ellie for advice or soothing words of comfort. But it was 2:23 in the morning and Ellie was fast asleep. Not to mention she had a job at a hair salon awaiting her in just a handful of hours. The water boiler clicked, and the button jumped back into position, which had been Timmy’s cue to remove it from the base and pour the water in his mug. His mind was turning against him and he just needed to find a way to calm himself down.

And thus, he sat down on the couch, pulled his knees behind him, and stirred his coffee.

Armie was probably sound asleep, Timmy thought, as he glanced up at the ceiling and envisioned the man’s apartment above him. His tall body sprawled between layers of bedsheets and sleepwear, his long limbs either supporting or expanding his body, his short hair likely tangled, and his lips tightly pressed together. It was an odd thought, that he had spent a weekend in that very bed. Had rested and woken right beside the man he so desired. But the truth of the matter was that Armie was the type of man one could only admire from afar. And with that in mind, Timmy leaned back against the fuzzy blanket that was draped over the backrest of the couch and groaned. He had officially returned to a hazy and despised teenage-esque hormonal state. But was that really so bad? What is left for us, if not to admire your fellow man?

Just a few months ago, he had been an ordinary adolescent, living an ordinary life, with ordinary obligations, living in an ordinary apartment with ordinary neighbors. And without notice, the darkness that had once shrouded the gloomy hallways in the building, banished by the light within a single man, that shone so brightly, so fiercely—like a spotlight aimed at a movie star on the red carpet of a premiere.

He had been so perfect, so friendly, so welcoming, so soothing, so comforting, so… Armie.

Timmy took another sip from his coffee and swished the liquid in his mouth for a second, puffing his cheeks as he froze—once more utterly lost in thought. The coffee rested on his tongue and when it had become lukewarm, he snapped out of it and swallowed. He knew where this was headed, and he had made peace with it… to the extent that he would allow himself. And he knew he had to vocalize is to make it a reality.

_Goddamn it. I burnt my only four-leaf clover by falling for my neighbor._

* * *

**Armie – 08:20AM**

_Morning. Hope you slept well. We’ll leave at 9, don’t forget._

Timmy jolted awake, kicking his right leg forward and knocking the mug off the coffee table _._ He blew a stray curl out of his face as it tumbled down and reached for the scrunchy that loosely held his hair together but had more so given up on exactly that as he slept. He reached for his phone and raced into the bathroom. He had no time, no time to shower, only time to brush his teeth, run a comb through his hair, wash his face and change clothes.

**Armie – 08:37AM**

_Don’t forget to eat. It’s a 2h drive._

Timmy picked up the pace and shoveled his cereal into his mouth with greater amounts. He jumped up, rinsed the bowl, and quickly dried it before dropping it in the drying rack. He checked his pocket and nodded. He checked the pocket of his coat: wallet, keys, USB-stick, phone, phone charger and cable. He ran into the bedroom and closed the windows and closed the curtains, laid open the bedsheets so they could air out and then tiptoed back toward the hallway, where he gave himself a final glance in the mirror.

_Okay, Tim. Don’t mess this up. Armie is counting on you. Try to absorb some of the movie star’s light, but don’t steal the spotlight._

**Timmy – 08:46AM**

_On my way. Can you turn on the heating, please? I didn’t sleep much._

**Armie – 08:48AM**

_Already on. I know my little Timmy by now. You can catch up on some sleep in the car._

This man was perfect… Absolutely perfect.


	18. Chapter 18

Timmy leant back against the leather interior of the seat and nuzzled into the wool of his black turtleneck. Sasha Sloan played on the radio on a low volume and the view of passing buildings and cars colored the window when Timmy turned to steal a peek. He turned to the other side and peeked at Armie. The man’s eyes were fixed on the road, one hand loosely connected to the steering wheel, the other resting on the gear stick. Timmy tilted his head so that his face would be freed from the turtleneck. The silence between them had been deafening for almost thirty minutes, despite the playlist, that Timmy had put together the night prior, jumping from song to song as the minutes passed. He breathed through his nose and shifted in his seat, moving the seat belt with a hand to keep it from cutting into his chest. When Armie glanced over, he saw it as his que to start conversation.

“So… How did you and Nanette meet?”

The older man raised an eyebrow, visibly taken aback by the sudden question—or perhaps the topic in general. He darted his tongue out and had quickly licked the corner of his mouth before returning his attention to the road. Meanwhile Timmy tried to figure out whether he had crossed a line or not.

“College.” He finally said, his voice low and underlined with a certain coldness. His eyes briefly met Timmy’s before he broke the eye-contact again. “We dated for a while until I dropped out.” He swallowed and his brow furrowed, as if to signal that he was calling upon a memory. Timmy could only watch the shifts in facial expressions—his fingers still fidgeting with the seat belt.

“I needed a break and took a trip to Italy. At that time, our relationship was on-and-off. After those six weeks I tried to make things work and they did for a while. We had even contemplated marriage, believe it or not. But it just… didn’t feel right.” He looked at Timmy and the boy had caught a glimpse of the weak smile that adorned the older man’s features. This must have been a painful memory for him to recall, and Timmy felt like a jerk for forcing him into that state of mind. Armie merely shrugged as he clenched his fingers around the wheel. “Some things aren’t meant to be. A shared life with Nanette was one of those things.”

Timmy nodded bashfully and averted his eyes. “What… was Italy like?” And Armie’s lips morphed into an amused grin. He brought a hand over to Timmy’s messy curls and ruffled them gently. “Italy was beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.” His eyes then shifted to the radio and he pursed his lips as he carefully listened to the lyrics of the song that was playing. Timmy chortled and felt a little proud that Armie shared in his taste for music.

“Mother Mother.” He said as he tried to help the man identify the song. “Burning Pile.” He added and watched the man nod, then increase the volume. “ _All my troubles on a burning pile, all lit up and I start to smile. If I catch fire, then I change my aim. Throw my troubles at the world again_.”

* * *

The engine’s roar came to a faint halt as the car came to a stop. Armie leant forward to observe the farmhouse and its surrounding acres of land. The front yard was littered with children’s toys: a bicycle rested in the bed of green grass, a frisbee and football discarded and forgotten near the driveway and a baseball bat that had been marked with a collection of tape—probably there to mask imperfections in the aged wood.

The man leant back in his seat and found Timmy resting when he turned to the passenger’s seat. As much as he wanted to allow the boy to catch some more Z’s, he knew that he couldn’t keep his brother waiting. With a hand he gently rocked the young man’s slender shoulder, while removing the keys from the input. Timmy stirred awake with a dazed look in his emerald eyes, moving his hands toward the armrest of the door to find his bearings. Armie watched him rub the remnants of sleep from his eyes and then straighten his back, as he stretched his arms and shoulder blades. His noses and brows furrowed for a moment, and then the skin smoothened again, and he locked eyes with the older man.

"We’re here.” Armie said, his voice calm yet hiding a visible tremor.

Timmy turned his head to the side and took in the view of the renovated and modernized Bohemian style farmhouse just up the road. The area had appeared desolate, had it not been for a handful of houses that lined the gravel dirt road. His eyes darted back and forth as they tried to take in as many details possible, and he let out an approving hum. “This reminds me of the campsite in Nice.” He pressed his forehead against the window and smiled. “Nature as far as the eye could see.” He then chortled and turned back to Armie, who had been observing the area as well. “Few people and a tight knit community.”

“Alright, we’ve come this far.” Armie breathed as he opened the door and stretched his long legs. Timmy followed suit and both doors slammed shut in synchronicity. The car locked behind them and as they started following the path, Armie couldn’t help but feel out of place—which had been an alien reality for him. But it gave him some insight on Timmy’s position, which he appreciated despite the current unpleasantries. Timmy’s calves seemed more familiarized with the rough gravel, as he had passed Armie and walked a few steps ahead. In front of the beforementioned residence, which was surrounded by the white-picket fence Armie never imagined his brother to own, Timmy stopped. His head fell back as he glanced up with a glint of amazement in his eyes.

“I love the esthetic.” He said and turned to Armie, who had joined him and now stood next to him.

“Beats a one bedroom apartment in the heart of the valley.”

Timmy smiled and reached his hand over to Armie’s hand and gave it a little squeeze, not once tearing his eyes away from the house.

“ _You’ve come this far,_ big guy.”


	19. Chapter 19

“Uncle Armie?”

Armie looked up when he heard a voice call his name and was soon to spot a head of sun blonde hair peeking out from the window on the top floor. As soon as the head appeared, it had already disappeared. Feet thundered down the stairs and a young boy rushed past his mother in the kitchen and out the kitchen door. A young boy, which must have been Oliver—Armie’s nephew—Timmy thought, had jumped into the older man’s arms and clung tightly to his shirt.

Armie ran a hand through the boy’s short, cropped hair and grinned widely. “Hey, big guy.” He glanced past the child and sent Timmy a wink before feigning to almost drop Oliver. “You’re so heavy...” Oliver released his koala-clutch and lowered himself back down, when he saw his mother appear in the kitchen doorway, a kitchen towel held in her hands and a confused look on her face.

“Mom! Uncle Armie is visiting!”

The woman’s expression softened when she recognized her brother-in-law and she greeted him with a wave of the arm. Armie sent Timmy a nod and both made their way over to the yard located in the back of the house. Timmy stood back awkwardly and watched as Armie and Isabell exchanged a welcoming embrace and a kiss on the cheek. He recognized that greeting as it had become custom for Armie and Nanette, and it showed Timmy that the man had a lot of respect for the women in his life.

Isabell combed back some of the man’s messy strands of ash with her fingers, smiling. “You still look as dashing as ever.” Then the woman turned to Timmy and reached for his hand, which Timmy shook with a timid smile. “You must be Armie’s friend. Nice to meet you, sweetie.” Isabell said, her face beaming with a motherly glow. Or was she glowing because she was expecting? Timmy flinched when Isabell suddenly withdrew her hand and gestured it toward the table on the porch. “Make yourselves comfortable. I was just getting the juice ready.” She sent Armie another warm smile on her way toward the kitchen, then turned to say: I’ll send Viktor your way, to which Armie’s eyes lit up in a way that was foreign to Timmy.

Armie rose from the chair when a man appeared on the porch, that was close to him in height, but that was seemingly where the similarities ended. Their appearances were quite divergent. Both men embraced and patted each other on the back heartily—both visibly and outwardly excited to be reunited again after years of separation. Viktor then noticed Timmy and leant down as he firmly shook his hand. “You must be Timmy. Happy to have you.” Isabell soon joined them, a tray balanced on her hand that held freshly squeezed orange juice and a plate of a variety of chocolate covered biscuits. Armie was the first to help himself to a glass, then he nudged Timmy’s knee with his own and handed him a glass of juice as well. Timmy had only taken a little sip when Oliver appeared next to him and tapped him on the shoulder. He pointed an arm toward the yard, a specific patch of grass where a football was located. Isabell gave an approving nod of the head. “Be gentle with Timmy, alright?”

Mid conversation Armie found his eyes drift toward Timmy and Oliver as they were engulfed in a game of football. He watched as Timmy chased the ball, that had been in Oliver’s control, and then swiftly kick it right from under his nose and make a b-line for the other goal. He hadn’t even picked up on Isabell’s voice when she had spoken, nor had he taken in Viktor’s response. Viktor had cleared his throat, causing Armie to look up and cast a confused glance his brother’s way. He caught husband and wife exchange a telling look and then it all clicked. He put the glass on the table and shook his head. “I’m careful. There’s no need for that.”

Isabell shifted in her seat, arms resting on her rounded stomach. A habit she had picked up during her pregnancy with Oliver. “We just wouldn’t want to see a repeat from that whole ordeal with Elliott.” Viktor nodded in agreement as he flattened a few imaginary folds in the fabric of his shorts. Armie merely sighed. “And you won’t. Have some faith in me, would you?”

Viktor rolled his eyes as he saw Oliver pull Timmy down to the ground, resulting in the two wrestling for control over the ball. “Oliver!” He shouted and raised a hand. “What did your mother just say?” Both boys’ heads darted upward for a second before they climbed to their feet and continued chasing the ball as Oliver gave it a fair kick. Isabell shrugged mid-bite in a chocolate chip cookie. “At least he gets along with Ollie.” But her husband shook his head with a groan and combed back a few strands of lost chestnut hair. “That boy has his ears glued to the soles of his feet, I tell you.” Armie watched and listened as they both conversed much like parents would about their children—realizing to what extent his little brother had grown into quite the man. His little brother was a father.

* * *

The sun had slowly started to set, decorating the sky with orange and red brush strokes that followed the horizon. An exhausted Timmy lowered himself on the chair next to Armie, who had gained a warm glow under the heat lights that surrounded the porch. His brother and himself had seemingly opened a bottle of wine, judging by the half-emptied wine glasses, and Isabell must have forgotten all about her glass of Bailey’s as she tended to Oliver inside the house.

“So, what do you do, Timmy?” Viktor spoke up, a faint red hue perceivable on his cheeks. Had the both of them already reached buzz nation? Timmy changed the orientation of the chair a little so that he was facing both Armie and Viktor, who sat opposite each other at the table. “I’m in my third year of college. Literature.” Viktor nodded slowly, then turned to his brother, who had smiled gently at the boy with the curled locks. “Oh, impressive.” He nodded a second time and eyed his glass. “We have both been there, haven’t we, Arm?”

The ash blonde shrugged matter-of-factly. “What can I say? Wasn’t for me.” To which Viktor snorted. “He was quite the ladies’ man.”

“You’re blowing things out of proportion.” Armie retorted and took a quick sip from his wine. “I might have been a little slick, but nothing to praise.”

“Bullshit! In high school, you had a new girl every other weekend.”

“I was a healthy teenager.”

The brothers grew silent when Isabell appeared in the kitchen doorway. “I’m gonna start on dinner so Oliver stops whining. You boys can stay seated and enjoy the conversation.” Her eyes then found the wine bottle on the table and she snickered. “And the wine, it seems.” Timmy caught her gaze and chuckled timidly. He had fallen head over heels for the dynamic in the Hammer household.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I have been a little busy lately...
> 
> Also, am I the only one that deals with these weird flags and audio player-esque thingies when editing chapters?  
> I have... no fucking idea what in the world that is supposed to be or do.

“Isa, you have truly spoiled us.”

Viktor nodded in approval and removed two three cigarettes from a pack, handing one to his brother and reaching another to Timothée. Said young adult accepted the offer, despite the fact that he didn’t smoke. At best he could be considered to be a social smoker. And most of those cigarettes were shared with Eddie. But he didn’t want to come across as rude, thus lit the cigarette with the lighter Armie handed him and continued to listen to the conversation between the family.

Oliver had excused himself as soon as he had cleared his plate and retreated back inside the house, much to his mother’s dismay. As the evening settled in, the horizon had faded into gathering of warm oranges and the faintest hints of cold maroons. Timmy had to admit that it was endearing to see Viktor place an ear to Isabell’s abdomen, while holding her hand in his own.

Armie tapped some excess ash from his cigarette and remarked the discarded glass of Bailey’s, to which Isabell had remarked to have poured it for Timmy. She added that she was currently unable to drink due to her current condition and Timmy’s eyes widened as he was stuck with a pang of guilt. “I had no idea it was for me.”

Viktor exhaled a puff of smoke and chuckled. “It’s fine, kid. I’ll make it disappear.” He reached for the glass and took an eager sip, smacking his lips in the process. Isabell rolled her eyes and squeezed his shoulders after she had gotten up and had begun clearing the table. “Why don’t you take a break from the glass and ready the guest room, hmm?” She pressed a kiss on his lips when he rose to his feet and obediently made his way into the house. “It has really uplifted him.” She then said, stacking the plates on her arm with such precision and skill, that it made Timmy wonder whether she had experience waiting tables in the past. “You visiting and spending time with him.” Her eyes locked with Armie’s and she smiled. “He has been looking forward to it from the very moment you called.”

Armie’s expression softened under the warm glow of the setting sun. “I have missed him more than I realized.” He motioned his body toward the table and rested both arms on the tabletop. “And visiting has shown me just how much he has grown since the last time I saw him.” The man then dipped his head down with his eyes fixed on the wooden surface. “So much that I have missed out on in those years.”

Isabell sent him a compassionate smile. “You’re here now, that’s what matters.” She ran a hand through his short, cropped, ash blonde locks and cupped his cheek gingerly. “You are part of this family, Armie.” She spotted Timmy mindlessly fidgeting with the strings of his hoodie. “As is Timmy. He is always welcome here.” The boy’s head darted upward, much like a dog that had beckoned closer and his heart fluttered. A smile spread across his cheeks—one that he tried to mask by lowering his head and allowing his dark curls to form a curtain to shield his eyes. “Thank you…” He muttered quietly—only to look up when he felt a sudden breeze pass by his shoulders—a coldness that was soon replaced by the warmth of cloth. Armie had draped his coat over his lithe frame and when he locked eyes with the man, he found that trademark smile that never failed to brighten up his sharp features.

How he wanted to leap across this very table and wrap his arms around those broad shoulders. Burry his face in the fabric of his black sweater, press his nose into the crook of his neck, feel the light burn of his stubble brush his cheeks and inhale his scent: that perfect combination of cologne, mint, and moisturizer. Though there would likely be a hint of tobacco and alcohol lingering on his breath. Not that he’d mind.

“If you’re cold, we could take it inside.”

Lost in thought, Timmy reciprocated with a meek nod of the head—and within seconds, he found himself awkwardly standing in the kitchen, watching Isabell loading the dishwasher and Armie rushing over to offer a hand—sleeves already rolled up.

He slipped out of his sneakers and had neatly lined them along the wall—surprised to hear a soft meow that resonated from the other room. Moments later a black cat tiptoed its way into the kitchen. At first it cautiously observed its surroundings and it seemed to make a move toward Armie—who had already leant down to rub its head—only for the feline to run off and settle on rubbing its head and sides against Timmy’s legs.

Timmy chuckled at the look of rejection written all over Armie’s handsome face, before kneeling down next to the small critter and scratching behind its ears. “Aren’t you a handsome fella? You remind me of someone.”

“That’s Illya.” Isabell said, drying a glass. “Technically it’s Oliver’s cat, but he doesn’t pay it much attention.” Her eyes landed on Armie and she shrugged. “Kids.”

* * *

Isa quietly entered the living room and smiled when she saw Timmy fast asleep—his head resting against Armie’s broad shoulder. “Armie?” She whispered. “The guest room is ready.”

Armie followed her eyes and smiled gently. “He’s a lightweight.” And picked up the young man with ease to prove his point. He followed Isabell up the stairs and into the guest room, where he carefully lowered Timmy on the bed. Isa watched from the doorway. “Viktor and I are a little further down the hall. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”

He wrapped both arms around her in a loving embrace and pressed a kiss to her temple. “You are a blessing in disguise.” He lowered his chin and looked her in the eye. “I can’t thank you enough for taking care of my brother. And me…” He glanced over at Timmy and chuckled. “And the children.”

Isabell gave a soft pat on Armie’s lower arm. “No need for that.” She turned on the balls of her feet and pulled the door shut behind her. “Good night. I will see you in the morning.”

Armie sat down on the edge of the bed and turned to observe how Timmy’s frail chest rose and fell with every breath he took. He looked so innocent, so fragile yet content. He placed a hand next to the boy’s sleeping frame and vigilantly leant down to wipe a stray curl from his brow. “Timmy…” He spoke in a low tone and smirked when said boy’s brow furrowed. “You should get out of those jeans if you’re going to bed, kiddo.”

He leant closer to his ear and whispered: unless you want me to undress you. Timmy hummed as he rolled over onto his back and trapped his lower lip under a row of teeth when Armie moved closer and lifted up his hoodie, to reveal his belt. He watched through lidded eyes as the man’s large hands unbuttoned his jeans and carefully pulled them over his hips and past his feet. The urge to sleep took a hold of him and he noticed his eyes fluttering shut, all the while Armie unzipped his hoodie and gingerly removed his arms from the sleeves. The last thing he heard before drifting off was the man’s voice telling him to get under the covers.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to yell at me for the continious slow build-ups. *sips tea*

The sounds of a lively household moving about in the kitchen, a floor below, roused Armie from his slumber. He breathed out a soundless yawn, eyes trailing downward, before his gaze eventually settled on a cloud of chocolate colored curls. He remembered the boy dozing off instantly after having his clothes removed, and rolling over in his sleep a little later, to end up burying his face in Armie’s chest. And the man hadn’t the willpower to move out of his touch—not that he’d wanted to—and instead, figured there would be no harm to allowing the physical closeness. At least not for the time being.He ran a few digits through the wave hair, impressed by the silkiness of the strands and brought his lips closer to the boy’s ear. He whispered his name and awaited a response, which came in the form of the boy clutching Armie’s chest tighter—nuzzling his nose and cheeks into the area of chest hair present. Armie carefully brought a hand to the boy’s shoulder and gave it a gentle rock before calling out his name once more. The second time had been the charm, as he was met by a pair of hazel eyes fluttering open—dazed and slowly taking in their surroundings.

Armie gave Timmy the room and time needed to fully awaken and rub the remnants of sleeps from his face. He followed suit and stretched his arms while he remarked how he had slept like a rock. He watched the boy stretch his slender limbs and torso, observed the way his muscles rippled under his skin with each subtle movement and how his bones protruded every so often—such a fragile little doll.

Armie gave Timmy the time needed to sit upright and rub away the remnants of sleep. He followed suit and stretched his arms. “You slept like a rock.” The brunet turned his head with a content smile. “I’m well rested.” Armie watched the boy stretch his slender limbs and torso, the way his muscles rippled under his skin with each subtle movement and how his bones protruded every so often—such a fragile, little doll.

“Say, Tim?” He said and took in the sight on the boy slicking his hair back with both hands—ignoring the few strands that refused to comply and instead drooped down to hug his perfectly sculpted cheekbones. “Hmm?” He hummed as he looked through said strands of hair, fumbling with the scrunchy on his wrist.

“While you were playing with Oliver, did he say anything?” Armie continued.

Timmy lowered his arms after finally managing to tie his hair into a small bun and allowed his gaze to lock with Armie’s. “Just that he hadn’t seen you in a while.” His gaze then trailed to the window and the white curtains that adorned either side of it. “And that you’d probably spend all day with his parents.” He added and noticed the fleeting expression of disappointment shape Armie’s features for a second, which had been controlled before it could indicate or instill a sense of concern in him. Armie moved his large body out of the confines of the bed and his impressive stature still impressed Timmy at times.

“Perhaps we could take the kid out for a day. Isabell mentioned that the neighbor kid went on a vacation with his parents and Oliver had felt a little lonely since.”

“Yeah, sounds good.” Timmy reciprocated and tried to blow a few stray strands out of his eyes. “I’m sure he’d appreciate spending time with his uncle.” He tucked them behind his ears and looked to his right, where he found Armie standing near the window—one arm placed on his hip, the other supporting his weight on the foot-end of the bedframe. “Are you up for it?” He asked, his brows dropping ever so slightly. “He kept you quite occupied as is.”

The boy smiled. “I honestly didn’t mind keeping your nephew entertained. He has a talent for football, that much I’ve learned.” He leaned forward—supporting himself by pressing both hands into the mattress and watched as Armie turned to face the window, and he was given a perfect view on the man’s long, semi-toned backside.

“That’s because he tackles his opponents to the ground.”

“Okay, maybe he confuses football for rugby.” Timmy chuckled as his eyes traveled along the curve of the older man’s spine. “But my point stands.” He smiled sweetly when the man turned and passed him after having collected his discarded pieces of clothing from the floor. “I’m gonna go for a quick shower.” He tapped Timmy’s nose with a finger before closing the bathroom door behind him and leaving Timmy to jump off the bed in search for his pants. He scaled the floorboards, bent down, and pressed his stomach to the rug and spotted the black jeans crumpled up under the bed. He stepped into them, reached for the bedside table, and opened the unread message that flashed on the screen.

 **Ellie – 7:14PM (yesterday** )

_Hey Frenchie, just got your text. Sorry, traffic, but I’m home now. I hope you and Armie are having a good time. If anything’s up, things are getting boring or you need someone to talk to, you know where to find me._

**Timmy – 09:43AM**

_Hey, sorry, didn’t catch your text. Must have fallen asleep pretty early. Armie had drank a few glasses of wine, so his sister-in-law suggested we spent the night. No, he wasn’t drunk—he was a little buzzed, but that was about it. Had a great time, his family is lovely. Armie wanted to spend a day exclusively with his nephew, Oliver. Is he perfect or what?_

He threw the phone back on the nightstand and there was a knock on the door. He sat up and smiled when he saw Isabell’s pretty face peek from the doorway.

“Good morning, sweetie.” She scanned the room for a moment. “Is Armie in the bathroom?” Timmy sent a small nod and she smiled. “We’re having breakfast. You boys should join us when you’re ready, alright?” She turned. “Don’t take too long, though. Oliver and Viktor are good eaters.” He sent her another nod, waited until her footsteps had descended down the stairs and jumped to his feet. He carefully approached the bathroom door. “Armie?” He awaited a response, but when none came, he brought his knuckles up to the wood and gave it a gentle knock. “Armie? …I have to pee.”

He pushed his lithe frame up and against the door, surprised when it swings slightly ajar and decides to poke his head inside the steamy room. The mirrors were completely fogged up and the room smelled like vapor and soap. “Armie, I’m coming in, okay? I’m covering my eyes. I just have to pee.” He uttered, bringing one hand up to cover his eyes, while fumbling his surroundings with the other, while at the same time bumping into walls and items left and right. “Ouch…”

“Timmy?” Armie peered from the side of the shower curtain, suds bubbling in his ash-blonde hair. “What are you doing?” The boy lowered his hand for a second, to catch a glimpse of Armie’s soaked chest and covered his eyes again. “Trying to find the toilet.”

The man shook his head with a chuckle. “To your right.” He moved back behind the curtain and continued to rinse his hair. “You don’t have to play hide and seek, kid. Our bodies are identical.”

Timmy glared in the shower’s direction and mumbled a silent: _Not even a little…_


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sowwy. ;c

Armie ruffled Oliver’s blonde hair as he entered the kitchen and took a seat at the breakfast table. Isabell handed him the coffee thermos with a smile and peeled the lid of a small yoghurt container.

“Where’s the little one?”

“Going through his elaborate morning routine.” The man poured himself a cup of coffee and caught Viktor’s confused glance. “You don’t want to disturb him while he’s lathering his body in all kinds of cremes.” Isabell licked the back of the lid. “Smart boy.” Viktor sent her a similar look, to which she shrugged her shoulders and crumpled up the plastic. “I moisturize my skin as well. It’s best to start early.” Her eyes traveled toward Armie. “It really is.”

The blonde nodded in agreement—he couldn’t deny valuing proper skincare as well. He reached for the bread bowl and threw 2 slices onto his plate. “Say, big guy…” He started and turned his head to the side to see Oliver look up from his phone. “What are you plans for the day?” The kid shrugged apathetically, eyes still glued to the screen—and Isabell sighed. “Why don’t you show uncle Armie and Timmy around a little?” She dipped her spoon into the container and allowed her eyes to rest on Armie for a second, before turning her attention back to the 11 year old. “You could show them your secret spot.”

Oliver looked up. “It won’t be a secret anymore if I show them, mom.” His grey eyes trailed to the hallway door opening and Isabell was the second to notice. “Morning, sweetie.” She beamed with a warm smile and gestured a hand toward the empty seat next to Armie. Timmy followed suit and sent the older man a sweet smile. “Morning.”

Viktor turned a page in the magazine he was reading and spoke without looking up. “You zonked out pretty early, kiddo.” He brought his mug to hips lips and smacked them after having taken a sip. “I hope you are all caught up now.”

Timmy nodded modestly and scanned the contents on display on the table. “Yeah… I slept great.” Isabell was the first to notice his hesitation and said: help yourself out, sweetie. Our home is your home. He made eye-contact for brief moment and nodded. Coffee was the first thing on his mind, and he thanked Armie when he passed him the thermos. He felt the man’s thumb brush the back of his hand for a second and their eyes met. In reality the moment must have lasted no longer than 10 seconds, but it sent a jolt through the boy’s body. “Thanks…” He mumbled, to which the man had nodded, after which he took another bite out of his sandwich.

“Timmy, might you have an idea as to what Oliver could do today?”

Both Timmy and Oliver looked up and their eyes briefly met before they shifted back to Viktor. Timmy turned to Armie, almost as if to ask for permission, then lowered the thermos back to the table. “Uhm…” He started, uncertain at first, but once he found Armie’s gentle gaze, he decided upon a proposal.

“What do you think about taking a bike ride down The Valley? There are some dirt roads that are used by motorists that connect San Mateo, San Bruno Mountain, Twin Peaks, and the Crystal Springs Dam… Could be pretty cool, no?”

The boy’s eyes lit up and he put his phone down, which Isabell found impressive for the pre-teen. “That’d be pretty cool…” Oliver said, and he turned to his mother for validation. Viktor had closed his magazine and observed the conversation. “Why not? A few cuts and bruises never killed us as a kid, right, brother?”

The man sent an affirmative nod, pushing the pressure on Isabell’s shoulders. The woman gave in and placed her cutlery on her plate. “As long as you boys are careful.”

* * *

Time had passed quickly as they traveled along the sights. Timmy had enjoyed the wind run through his hair and tug on his shirt as he sped down the paths. He knew these routes like the back of his hand, especially given that one particular hellish date refused to leave his mind, but it had been thanks to Eddie that he had gained appreciation for biking and these just so happened to be the paths that Eddie preferred. Timmy in the front, Oliver following closely behind and Armie tailing, as to keep an eye on both.

The gravel near the Crystal Springs Dam was unstable, and the hill formations treacherous—Timmy knew this, thus he attempted to slow down by pushing his feet down into the dirt. The sudden increase in weight along the edge of the trail caused some of clay to crumble and before Timmy could react in time and turn the wheel, he felt his weight shift and his soles lose its footing. His instincts told him to warn Oliver and Armie, but time was something he had not—the soil continued to crumble and within the blink of an eye he felt gravity pull him down. All he could do was scream and protect his body against the force in which the metal parts of his mountain bike were slammed and pulled into him.

Oliver skidded to a stop and froze when he saw the remnants of the path crumble and slide down the edge of the path. Each particle of sand and hardened clay razor sharp and detailed as adrenaline heightened his senses. Armie jumped off his bike and pleaded Oliver to remain still, in the hopes to not trigger more of the unstable clay to give away. With trembling hands, he fumbled the pockets of his jeans, only to realize he had left his phone in the car. He turned to Oliver, knowing he had to distract the child from not looking down the ledge. God forbid what may have happened to Timothée, he did not want Oliver to suffer the trauma anymore than he already had. “Oliver, listen to me.” He waited until the child found the courage to tear his gaze away from the bent wheels of Timmy’s bike and had turned to face Armie. “Listen very carefully, I want you to stay put, you hear me? Don’t move an inch. The soil is very unstable, if you move too suddenly, you might fall as well.”

The boy’s eyes widened, and he nodded in fear. Armie swallowed and took a few careful steps forward. “I’m going to slowly come to you, okay? Do not move. I will carefully pull you away from the ledge.” The man observed the gravel under his feet as he moved closer. He put a hand on the steering wheel of Oliver’s bike and pulled it closer and closer until it was on more stable ground, then breathed out a sigh of relief as he hugged the boy tightly. “Oliver, listen carefully. I want you to walk to those trees and wait for me there. I’m gonna go back down the path and get my phone.” Oliver nodded, trembling like a chicken waiting to be slaughtered. Armie looked him in the eye. “Repeat what I have told you to do, son?”

“Go back and wait by the trees for you to call help.” When Armie let go of him and picked up his own bike, he yelped. “But uncle Armie…” He dared to turn back to the path and swallowed. “Is Timmy alright? He didn’t … die, right?”

Armie swung a leg over the bike and shook his head. “Timmy will be just fine. I promise. Now, please, wait by the trees, I will be back as soon as possible.”


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah.... It took a while and I apologize.  
> I just haven't been in the best head space latel and I didn't feel like writing in the least.  
> I hope you won't hold it against me... And hope you still enjoy the story.

“Oh, my God!” Isa yelped as she and Viktor entered the waiting room. She rushed over to her young son and pressed his lithe frame tightly against her chest- fingers combing through his head of short blonde hair. Next to the boy sat the exhausted frame of Armie. His ash blonde hair was tousled haphazardly, signifying he had ran a stressed hand through the tufts a number of times, and his dirt covered clothes created a stark contrast to the clean and sterile, white painted walls that surrounded the family. Viktor carefully lowered himself on the plastic and abstract chair next to his brother. He breathed out a sigh and inspected the laces on his shoes, as he tried to figure out how best to approach the situation.

Isa had pulled Oliver onto her lap and was cradling him like the overbearing mother she was, and it eased the man to see that his son had been safe and sound. Which led to the unavoidable topic of the other young man present…

He turned to Armie and drank in the subtle signs of exhaustion that had become apparent among his, otherwise immaculate, features. His brother had been here for a while, and whilst simultaneously worrying for Timothée, had watched over his nephew- and Viktor was grateful for that. He lapped his tongue past his lower lip and arched his back a little. Perhaps in an unwitting attempt to soften his stature, as to not let any signs of anger or blame shine through. 

“How is he?”

Armie kept his eyes fixated on the stone tiles below their feet. “Broken leg, fractured wrist, mild concussion and some superficial wounds: cuts and bruises.”

Isa’s head snapped upward, and she sent a glare in the way of both brothers.  
“They never killed you as a kid, huh?!” To which Viktor tensed his shoulders and allowed his eyebrows to furrow slightly. “How was I to know this would happen?!” He did not blame her for her sudden flare of anger, it was nothing more than her worries currently taking over. He had experienced the exact same emotions upon receiving the initial phone call from Armie that evening. But he knew his brother would never allow for Oliver to get in harm’s way, so those emotions were fleeting. His focus had shifted from his son to Timothée instead.

The woman brushed a lock of dark hair over her shoulder and tilted her head the other way, biting back a surge of emotions and words that she would come to regret. “That could’ve been our son in there…” She eventually managed to mumble as tears had begun to sting the corners of her eyes and she instinctively clutched the sleeping frame of her son closer.

Armie instantly rose to his feet. “And instead, it’s Timmy? Is that what you’re trying to say?” This urged Viktor to rise himself and place a hand on his brother’s tensed shoulder. “You know she didn’t mean it like that.” He gently squeezed the muscle under his thumb. “She’s just a bit shaken up. We’re _all_ a bit shaken up. Yeah?”

The blonde turned to his brother and his features softened under the bright lights. “He could’ve died…” His eyes portrayed emotion: panic, guilt, incompetence, and fear. And both Isa and Viktor had easily picked up on that after the short-lived confrontation. Isa decided to stand down and instead tend to her child, which left Viktor to comfort his sibling. He looked Armie in the eye and pursed his lips into a small, yet hopefully comforting, thin line. “But he didn’t. Because you were there to do what was needed.”

“What the hell was I thinking even suggesting an activity like mountain biking next to a cliff...?”

Armie said, lowering himself back on the small chair. And Viktor followed suit. “Well, technically it had been Timmy’s ide—It doesn’t matter.” He nudged his brother’s shoulder with his own. “There’s no point to the blame game.” His eyes shortly traveled toward his wife, as if to drive the point home. “Timmy will recover in no time and then you’ll both look back and laugh.” Yet Armie shook his head. “Isa was right… That could’ve been Oliver.” Viktor averted his eyes. “He could’ve died, Vik…” Their eyes met and he could now, more than ever, see the absolutely heartbroken state which his brother was in. “I would’ve never forgiven myself…”

The sound of door hinges creaking caused the man to turn toward the source of the sound—where could see Ellie’s chocolate colored hair, tied into a messy bun—as if she had been roused from her sleep and had dropped everything and rushed over. She was accompanied by another man, tall in build and dressed in an outfit that told him that he, as well, had scrambled whatever pieces of clothing he managed to find and threw them on in a hurry.

“Oh, God! Armie!” Ellie ran toward the older man and hugged him tightly. “Please, tell me he’s alright.” Armie could only rub a hand down her back and burry his nose into her hair. He needed reassurance, familiarity, without the added guilt. Ellie would never blame him… When he released her, he was greeted by the other man’s outstretched hand. “You must be Armie.” He eyed the gesture for a moment before he decided to accept the handshake. “Eddie… I presume?”

The man nodded. “We came as soon as we heard.”

“This is my brother Viktor, his wife, Isabell, and their son, Oliver.”

Ellie shook their hands with a friendly smile. “I’m Ellie and this is Eddie. We’re friends of Timmy’s.”


	24. Little Disclaimer

In the light of the recent allegations surrounding Armie Hammer, I have decided to put this work of fiction on hold for the time being.

First and foremost, I want to send my support to any prior abuse victim that has been triggered by these allegations, and whose wounds have now been re-opened.  
Your voice is valid and your story has a right to be heard. Do not lose sight of who you are and how much worth you hold. 

I was raised with the morals to not believe a story until both sides are known, and as of late a lot of supposed victims have stepped forward.  
But as someone that has experience in the fields of graphic design, promotional art-design and editing in general, I am aware of how easily screenshots and video files can be edited.  
So I have learned to not take everything we see online at face value, and a good example of this ringing true would the a prior allegation of leaked DMs containing misconduct between Armie and an alledged Russian girl.  
Those screenshots were evidently fake, and I didn't even have to put these images to the test--that was an easy pick for trained eyes.  
So, with that knowledge I will not take the allegations from HouseOfEffie as fact, until we see them record these alledged DMs from a device that isn't their phone. (Filming the screen of her laptop would be alright)  
That does not negate that these allegations have visibly affected a lot of people, myself included, and an explanation from Armie's side is most desperately needed.

Regardless of whether these allegations turn out to be factual, I do not and cannot condemn the behaviors shown in these alleged DMs.  
I will, however, not sit here and claim that these allegations came out of left field completely, since his substance abuse issues have been prior knowledge, as well as his not-so-typical sexual fetishes.  
And it is far from me to shame anyone for their sexual attractions or kinks, but when you try to explain certain behaviors by labling them as 'BDSM', when the concept of BDSM hinges on the foundation of mutual respect,  
I simply cannot condone or accept these statements. That includes the horrendous and simply put denegrating privated IG account that has recently come to the surface, which was anything but acceptable.

All there is left to say is that I hope Armie Hammer gets the help he needs and deserves.  
That he takes this time to realize the error in his ways and that he uses this down-time to heal, or at the very least take the steps needed toward a healing process.  
He needs a guiding hand and I do wish him the best if he decides to follow this advice. 

To all of his victims, again if these allegations are factual, I cannot express my disappointment in him hard enough.  
You deserved so much better and I hope you all will find the strength and time to heal and recover from this.

I hope you can respect my choice, and perhaps, when certain steps are met, I might be able to continue this work of fiction with a clear conscience that I am not supporting a predator.


End file.
